Fairy Hogwart and the Twilight Conspiracy
by Hecate-Mahadevi
Summary: OMG! Nonslash HP fanfiction? Unbelievable! Same universe as my Teen Titans fanfiction, Impact. I think it's good, but then, I wrote it. Won't you please read it and give me your opinion? Expect frequent updates.
1. Prologue

**Prologue : All My Stories Have Prologues, Dammit**

Ehfanko lifted her head and brushed hair from her face, turning to look at her old friend.

"Raven. It's been too long." Gliding over, she embraced the dark-haired girl, who returned the hug with only minor hesitation.

"You have wings now," Raven observed.

"Oh, these? Do you like them?" Ehfanko twirled in place, letting her brilliant blue hair swirl about her shoulders.

"They're lovely. Very Fey." The empath seated herself on a rock, her skirt and cape ﬂowing gracefully onto the ground like frozen water, and Ehfanko followed suit. "I've come here to ask you something."

"Oh, is that all? You can come just to talk any time you want, too, Raven. The others know you're a friend of mine…"

"…I know. I should visit my mother, too, in Azarath, but I've been so busy lately. Do you know what's been happening on Earth?"

Ehfanko leaned her chin on one hand and regarded the other young woman. "Marina Crawford is the President of the US. Japan has concrete plans for space tourism. Hmm, and I noticed that someone slew Voldemort."

"Yes. Lots of things have been going on, both in the magical and non-magical communities. I had to help defeat Ferozandaakhi and his lieutenant Kaman-Dûl. A teacher from your old school married a professor from Zuriel Weber, and they have a son. Albus Dumbledore retired from his position as headmaster of Hogwarts…"

"Wait—hold on!" Ehfanko cried, leaping to her feet. "Someone from Estrellita married someone from Zub? No way! Who was it?"

"Eshana Fenwick," Raven responded. "Did you know her?"

"Yeah! She was seven grades ahead of me. I don't believe it, though…" She laughed. "Well, stranger things have happened. What was that about Dumbledore?"

"Ah," the empath continued, "These last few years have been quite stressful, and he's not a young man. Back in 2000, Harry Potter—the boy whom Voldemort tried to murder, and failed—enrolled at Hogwarts, and every one of his academic years was highly eventful. Two years ago, Dumbledore was accidentally killed by a mis-aimed spell—" (Ehfanko let out a ragged gasp) "—but we were able to revive him almost immediately with phœnix down, so no permanent damage was done. However, he did come to the conclusion that his life had become far too exciting, so he stepped down from the position of headmaster and helped Harry pursue Voldemort, up until about a month ago, when Harry was able to avenge his parents by killing Voldemort in a duel."

"Using the sword of Godric Gryffindor, no less," Ehfanko said, nodding in approval. "I saw it all in a dream."

"Which brings us to why I've come," Raven said, smoothing her skirt. "They want you to teach at Hogwarts."

Ehfanko burst out laughing. "Do they, now?" Then she realised Raven wasn't joking. "They do?"


	2. Chapter One

**Chapter One : The Calling**

"Maeve, when are Mum and Dad getting back?"

"I don't know, Slade, stop asking me! They should be here already," the girl muttered, not taking her eyes off the screen.

"Can I play? I want to play!"

"Use your own computer."

"It's not working again. And I want to play Morrowind."

Maeve sighed and hit the Pause key. "What's wrong with it this time?" she asked, turning her chair to face her young brother. Maeve was a pretty girl, even at eleven years of age, with flowing dark brown hair and deep azure eyes. Freckles were scattered across her face like stars in the night sky. She didn't look much like her parents—her father was pale-haired and blue-eyed, and her mother's colouration uniformly mousy-brown—but her six-year-old brother Slade did, and despite this, they were quite inseparable (and resembled each other well enough) that it was easy to tell they were siblings.

Maeve and Slade's parents were gone that day, as usual. They were always very busy, running around the country and occasionally to other countries on business trips, most of which Maeve and Slade couldn't accompany them on. Their mother, Sarah, was a professor who had been born in America and still had family there—family which usually came to see them rather than the other way around. Neil, their father, was a business executive, and often spent long periods of time in London, Liverpool, and other cities with major branch offices. As a result, Maeve and Slade spent most of their free time watching television, playing video games, or reading books; when their parents would be gone for several days at a time, they often had the woman three doors down, Miss Apollonia, come to baby-sit them. Their parents were supposed to get back this afternoon, though, after only one night away. Slade was impatient, as he knew both parents would be bringing him a gift; Maeve had learned to curb her enthusiasm, as her side of the bedroom was already filling up with reminders that her parents were rarely at home.

Maeve's hand went to the mouse attached to her brother's computer—like hers, a state-of-the-art late-model version named after a fruit—and received no reaction. "You silly kid, the keyboard's just unplugged again," she announced, feeling around for the connection. "Honestly, Slade, why don't you check stuff before you call me over?"

"I did," he pouted. "It didn't help. …I like the way you fix it."

She sighed. "What are you going to do when I go away to secondary school in a few months?"

He shuffled his feet. "I don't know." There was a sudden tapping at the window, and they both glanced over. Slade's eyes went round. "Whoa, look! An owl!" It was indeed a very handsome-looking brown-striped owl, knocking on the glass pane with its beak, in which was clutched a piece of yellowish paper.

"What d'you suppose it wants, Sis?" Slade asked, awed. They both loved animals, and had never seen a bird so close before. Their parents, while understanding, didn't feel that the children were yet responsible enough to take care of anything beyond fish. Maeve suspected, though, that she might receive an upgrade to budgie within a few months.

"I don't know," she whispered, moving close. "It's like it wants to be let in…"

"What's it holding?"

"It looks—it looks like…an envelope," she said, peering at the elegant green writing across the surface. The owl looked up at her insistently, as if wondering why she hadn't opened the window yet. Maeve undid the latch and made to throw open the casement; the owl, seeming uncannily clever, stepped back off the sill and hovered while the window was opened. It lighted on the inside of the windowsill, looking up at Maeve with its large yellow eyes, and held its head as if offering her the envelope. Bemused, she took it, and read what was scrawled across the front in swirling emerald-green ink:

Miss M. Kerrigan

Upstairs Bedroom

19 Ash Lane

Pondsborough

Allendale

More confused and slightly alarmed, she tore open the envelope and scanned the letter inside. She had to read it a few times before it sunk in.

"What's it say? What's it say?" Slade asked, craning his neck to try to see.

"It…it says I've been admitted to some kind of school of magic," she muttered, flipping the two pages (one the letter, the other a list of supplies) back and forth. "I…I don't get it. It must be some kind of prank…" She was not among the popular crowd at school, preferring to sit and read books or draw anime characters rather than run round the playground at recess, but while there were those who occasionally made fun of her, she couldn't imagine that anyone would actually try to mess with her mind by sending a fake letter from a magic school.

"A prank?" Slade cried. "From who?"

"I don't know," she admitted, refolding the letter and gazing out the window. It seemed like an awful lot of work to train an owl to deliver a prank message… She re-read the letter once more. It did appear to be written on parchment, not paper, and was signed by someone named "Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts".

"Well, what are we going to do?" Slade asked. "…Can I read it?" Maeve irritably handed him the the letter. He gasped. "That's so cool! But they say you need to go to London…"

"I don't believe it, myself," Maeve sighed. "And why is that owl still here?" The owl suddenly straightened up at the sound of the door opening downstairs, and Slade shoved Maeve's post back at her and rushed from the room. When Maeve glanced back at the window, the owl was still waiting, looking for all the world like it had a prompting expression on its feathery face. She heard her parents call from downstairs.

"—Yes, fine," she said to the bird, recalling the line _"We expect your owl no later than July 31st"_. She grabbed a pen from her computer desk, scribbled _I accept your offer, but you must provide transportation_ on the back of the acceptance note, and handed it to the owl. She stuffed the list in her pocket as it took wing and flew off into the afternoon sky.

"Miss Apollonia's here, Maeve. She wants to talk to you," her mother informed her as she came running down the stairs. "Sorry it took so long—the taxi got a flat tyre—" She grabbed her daughter in a tight embrace. "Anything happen while we were gone?"

"No, Mum," she responded, just as her dad entered the room and she was traded off to hug him. She decided not to mention the strange letter at the moment. "What's Miss Apollonia want?"

"She won't say," Neil said, "but she wants to talk to us as well. She's waiting in the sitting-room. Oh, and I got you something…" He reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a long thin box, which she accepted eagerly. "You mentioned that the Safeway here doesn't carry the pen you like anymore." Smiling, she lifted the top from the package, and was rewarded by the sight of a lovely, pristine new roller-ball pen, just the kind she liked for inking her drawings.

"Thanks, Dad!" she gushed, hugging him again. Sometimes the gifts almost made up for not being able to spend more time with her parents.

Miss Apollonia was standing by the fishtank, watching the brightly-coloured creatures swim to and fro. Maeve's mother rushed off to the kitchen to prepare a pot of tea, and Maeve seated herself on the overstuffed couch. Her father took his traditional seat in the imported armchair, reaching for the basket of mail that had collected on one side during his absence. Apollonia turned and smiled at Maeve.

"Hello," she said, her green eyes twinkling and perceptive as always. She made an excellent babysitter, as she seemed to always know somehow when Maeve and Slade were doing something they shouldn't. "Did you receive any letters today, Maeve?"

Maeve felt her heart skip. How did…? "Um…" Her hand instinctively went to the pocket that held the list of supplies, and she pulled it back. "No, there was nothing in the postbox for me…"

Apollonia strode over to the couch and sat down next to her. "This letter wouldn't be by ordinary post," she explained. "There's something very important I have to tell you." Maeve's mother entered the room just then, bearing a pot of tea and several teacups. "Your parents need to hear this, too."

Maeve's father looked up from the stack of bills. "She hasn't got into trouble, has she?"

"No, no, nothing like that," Apollonia explained, accepting a cup of steaming tea from Mrs. Kerrigan. "It's…rather unusual, but I'm sure you'll understand.

"Your daughter, Mr. and Mrs. Kerrigan, possesses a talent for magic."

There was an awkward silence, in which Maeve's parents exchanged bewildered looks. "_Magic_?" Mr. Kerrigan repeated. "Surely you don't mean—"

"Oh, but I do," Apollonia went on smoothly, taking a sip of tea. "You may find it hard to believe, but there are still people who practise magic in this day and age. I am one of them. We have our own schools, our own branches of government, even our own infrastructure."

"Wait, if you're a mage—how come we've never seen you cast any spells?" Maeve demanded, who had played enough video games and seen enough fantasy to know that magic was not generally easy to hide.

"Simply because, up until today, your family have been classified as 'Muggles', or non-magic-users. Wizarding laws strictly prohibit the use of magic in the view of Muggles. Nowadays, it is mainly to preserve our privacy, as magic would be in high demand if more people knew about it, but many years ago, it was very important to keep one's status as a witch or wizard secret, lest one be burnt at the stake as a Devil-worshipper." Maeve's mother opened her mouth, but Apollonia predicted her comment and headed her off with, "Magic use is _not_ the same as Devil-worship, nor even paganism or Wicca. Magic is merely a force that those with the talent can learn to control, and religion rarely enters into it. I am, as you know from seeing me at church, as dutiful a Christian as anyone."

Slade wandered by. "Hi, Miss Apollonia," he said shyly, continuing on his way.

"Slade, I'm gonna be a sorceress!" Maeve burst out, and her brother stopped in his tracks.

"What're you talking about?" he cried, running into the room. "Is this about that letter?"

Apollonia smiled. "Come sit down, Slade," she said. "Yes, your sister has really been accepted to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. In a few years, you probably will be as well." His eyes widened. "But it's very important that you do _not_ tell all your friends. We witches and wizards like to keep it a secret."

"Why? Magic is awesome!" he gushed.

"If everybody knew we could cast spells, they'd come to us all the time to solve their problems. It's easier if they don't know. You're a smart boy, Slade—I'm sure you understand." He nodded solemnly, with obvious disappointment; it would have been fun to see his schoolmates' expressions on hearing his sister and their neighbour were real, live witches.

"I want to see you cast a spell," he said finally.

Apollonia smiled and reached behind her head. She took hold of the longest one of the three hair-sticks holding her bun and pulled it free. Giving it a flick, she intoned, "_Orchideous_!" Several flowers burst from the end of the wand, and all four Kerrigans gasped in admiration. Maeve deftly snatched the blossoms from the air as they fell, and one of Apollonia's eyebrows rose.

"Good reflexes," she murmured. "Maybe you should try out for Seeker on your House Quidditch team." Noting the confused expressions, she went on, "Quidditch is our sport—it's a bit like hockey or basketball, but it's all done flying on broomsticks—I'll explain later." She sighed, but didn't look upset. "I've just realised how much you have to learn. Don't worry, though, Maeve—you'll pick it all up quickly, I'm sure." She glanced up at the parents. "The term at Hogwarts begins on September the first. If it's all right with you, I'd like to take Maeve to London today, as she needs to get supplies."

"Oh—supplies," Maeve said, "that's right—how much are my things likely to cost?" Mrs. Kerrigan nodded in agreement, looking mildly concerned.

"Oh, it's not that bad," Apollonia assured them. "There's a fund set up for first-time students, but your parents can come and get their money exchanged at Gringotts if they want…"

Several hours later, Maeve and her family returned to her little house in Allendale laden down with packages, including a cage that held a small striped owl. Students at Hogwarts were allowed to bring "pets" (Maeve didn't know why they didn't simply call them "familiars", which is what they were), and she had liked the idea of an owl, since Apollonia had explained to her that the birds were much more intelligent that Muggles gave them credit for and were highly useful. Maeve had immediately named her owl Olcadan, after a character in a video game, and he seemed to like it. Maeve let him out in the evening, but advised him sternly (as her parents looked on) not to surprise her with anything he caught overnight.

She dreamt that night, strange hazy images that seemed to have a meaning she couldn't quite puzzle out. After waking up a few times and falling back asleep, a scene formed clearly in her mind's eye: Five people—three women and two men—were seated at a long table. One of the men, rakishly handsome with tawny hair and wearing a frayed wizard-style hat and a chunky ruby pendant around his neck, sat across from the other, who glowered at him beneath thick eyebrows that matched his cascade of raven-black hair. A brown-haired woman with sharp gray eyes was engaged in discussion with a fair and slightly plump companion, her cheeks as rosy as the ruby necklace on the man next to her. At the end of the table was seated a tall and very beautiful elflike woman, skin as pale as ivory and as smooth as porcelain, her hair red-brown at the roots and shifting to pure gold at the tips. She wore rose-petals and maple leaves woven in her hair and around her neck, and she looked up at the ceiling of the great hall they were in and smiled approvingly.

"I'm glad you were all able to come together to build this place," she said, in a soft and airy voice. "We have to leave soon, so the teaching falls to you."

"I still do not understand why you are willing to accept people with no magical heritage," the dark-haired man sneered. "They will bring their strange ways here, taint our bloodlines, spread knowledge around in the world that no normal person should know."

"My dear Salazar," the elflike woman said, not raising her voice, "when I began teaching humans the ways of magic, there _were_ no people with 'magical heritage'. To me, you are _all_ still neophytes."

"Are you implying that you feel I am Muggle-born?" he demanded, eyes flashing.

"Give it a rest, Salazar!" the tawny-haired man snapped, leaning back in his chair. "You know we're all humans, created in God's image. What does it matter if someone's parents were magic-users or not?"

"That," said the pale woman, rising from her seat and draping herself across the speaker's lap, "is what I like to hear." She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. He smirked across the table at Salazar, who perhaps was just bitter that the other received such affections. The two women at the table rolled their eyes.

"Men," they said together, smiling.

"Really, why can't you two just agree to disagree?" the blonde one asked, spreading her hands.

"I dearly hope it is not true what I have heard speculated—" the gray-eyed lady said, shooting a glance at her tawny-haired colleague— "that the concern about…'pure blood'…has reached the point where wizards and witches refuse to breed outside their own families for fear of losing quality."

"What? No!" the plump woman gasped. "We mustn't! We've all seen what inbreeding does! Look at the poor Egyptians…!" Salazar grunted and folded his arms, saying nothing.

"You see?" the man across from Salazar cried, pointing at him. "Even Rowena thinks it's disgusting that you intend to marry your cousin!"

"Godric!" the elfin woman on his lap gasped, looking scandalised. Salazar slammed his long-fingered hands onto the table and stood up.

"I'm not— I am not going to—" he sputtered. "I—I've never been so—insulted—!" he spat, his face turning purple. Cloak swirling around him, he stormed away, and the blonde woman made to stand up and follow him.

"Leave him be, Helga," Godric said, looking annoyed. His lover watched the retreating figure and sighed.

"With all due respect, Queen," the gray-eyed lady commented quietly, "perhaps it was not the best idea to ask Lord Slytherin to help found the school."

The elfin woman rose to her feet and idly brushed her hair back. "I understand your concern, Rowena, but fear not. I have my reasons for having chosen each of you…"

Maeve woke up abruptly, rays of sun piercing her eyelids and a small beak nibbling gently at her ear. "What was _that_ about?" she wondered.


	3. Chapter Two

**Chapter Two: To Hogwarts**

The next month couldn't pass swiftly enough. Slade constantly begged to be taken along, but Apollonia—who would be accompanying Maeve to London, where she would get on a train that would take her to Hogwarts—insisted that while he and their parents were allowed to see Maeve off at the station, they were not permitted to travel all the way to Hogwarts with her.

"And what will you do afterwards?" Maeve had asked.

"I'm teaching at Hogwarts this year," she announced proudly. "They've made some changes to the curriculum and staff. It'll be interesting to see what's new. Minerva's the headmistress now; there'll be a new head of Gryffindor House—that's the House I was in; it's a good House, if I do say so myself, and I think you'd do well in it…" Maeve and Slade had been invited to spend more time over at Apollonia's house since the arrival of the letter, where they were now allowed into the study—full of ancient books and arcane instruments, as well as housing the cage of Phœbus, her familiar and the owl that had delivered Maeve's letter. Mr. and Mrs. Kerrigan were quite as busy as ever, jet-setting around Europe, and were quite happy to entrust their children to Apollonia's care. (They had already contacted someone to look after Slade in case it was needed while both they and Apollonia were away.)

Maeve slept over at Apollonia's house on the last night of August, and woke well before the rap on her door. Slade had decided not to tag along when they had informed him what time he would have to get up: It was barely dawn outside, the distant trees and hills shrouded in haze, and even most of the birds were still asleep. Maeve leapt out of bed, however, excited beyond words that today, she would embark on her very own real-life adventure.

"Where is Hogwarts, anyway?" she asked Apollonia, as the smell of toast and eggs filled the kitchen.

"Somewhere in northern England. Not terribly far from here, actually," the woman responded, setting a saucepan on the stove and filling it with rich-smelling Turkish coffee. She lit the burner beneath it with her wand and sat down at the table. "I couldn't tell you exactly where, though—it's Unplottable, which means it can't be put on a map or precisely located. I could find it if I need to," she went on, briefly glancing at the morning paper (which, Maeve noticed, had moving pictures on the front), "and I usually fly there or Apparate to Hogsmeade, but since you're going into your first year there, we have to go through all the formalities and take you down to London so you can ride the Hogwarts Express. I'd rather we both fly there—hmm, you don't have a broomstick, though—but that's the way it is."

They took a fast train south from Allendale to Kings Cross station in London, where Apollonia checked her watch as she lugged a trolley laden with trunks behind them. "Good, we've nearly half an hour before it leaves," she observed. Maeve looked down at her ticket, actually reading it for the first time, and was confused.

"Platform nine and—?" she began, but Apollonia cut her off.

"Ah, yes, here we are," she said, stopping in front of a blank brick pillar and glancing around. "Don't worry, now—just follow me—" She dropped her voice, so that Maeve had to lean closer to hear her over the sound of the people milling around them. "The entrance is here, it's just bewitched to look solid." She reached for the barrier, and Maeve noticed that her hand went straight through the wall. "Come quickly, now, we don't want Muggles to notice—" And she was gone, pulling the load of luggage with her. Maeve looked around, then walked toward the pillar—it didn't feel like there was anything solid there (she had always been good at telling where things were with her eyes closed—solid objects tended to block air currents and were easily perceptible)—she forced herself not to blink, it felt like she walked through a brick-coloured screen of smoke, and then she was standing on a platform next to an old-fashioned steam engine, bright red, with HOGWARTS EXPRESS stencilled on the side. Behind her, she saw a wrought-iron gate; Muggles on the other side walked right past, completely oblivious, but a tall and slender young woman with flaming red hair strode purposely toward the pillar, pulling a trolley behind her, glancing at the watch on her wrist just before pausing before the barrier to make sure no-one was watching. Maeve stepped aside to let her through, and Apollonia's face lit up as the girl entered.

"Ginny!" she cried, throwing her arms out. Ginny smiled and returned the older woman's hug one-armed, the other hand still firmly on the handle of her luggage cart. "Where're your family? I can't believe they let you come here all by yourself!"

"Oh, there's a big row at home," Ginny sighed exasperatedly. "Apparently, George's good—and _unmarried_—friend Selena is mysteriously pregnant, and Mum has been shouting at him ever since he and Fred arrived last night…I got fed up and told them I was going without them if they didn't hurry up, and they were too busy yelling to notice."

"Maeve," said Apollonia, stepping away, "this is Ginny Weasley, one of my best students." Ginny went pink and mumbled something. "Ginny, this is Maeve Kerrigan, who'll be starting at Hogwarts this year." Maeve stuck out her hand, and Ginny shook it warmly.

"You'll love Hogwarts," she assured the girl. "You the first one in your family to come here?"

"Yes," Maeve responded, as Apollonia began ushering them toward the train, which had let off a big burst of steam. "My parents were really confused, but they seem to be taking it quite well. I hardly ever see them anyway, so I don't know what they really think of it…"

"Busy Muggle lives, eh?" Ginny said with a smile. They heaved their luggage onto the train, leaving the trolleys behind. "Come on, let's find a compartment. There should be some good ones—most people don't get on until it's about to leave—" She led the way down a narrow corridor, Olcadan exchanging hoots with the animals that were already on board, and Maeve peering through the glass doors into every compartment they passed. Most were, indeed, empty—she didn't know what, exactly, Ginny was looking for—but Maeve stopped short in front of one pair of doors. There was a young woman in there with blue hair. Blue, just like an anime character. And she was playing _World of Warcraft_. _On a PSP._

"Maeve?" Ginny asked, pausing and glancing back. "Oh, who's that? She must be new…" She slid the door open, and the sound of 'Sweet Dreams are Made of This' floated out into the passageway. "Er, hello…are these seats taken?" Ginny asked. The blue-haired woman looked up.

"Oh, no. Come on in," she said, reaching over her head to where an iPod dangled from the luggage rack and hitting its pause button. She had an American accent—faintly Northeastern, Maeve thought. A large, very fluffy white cat was curled up on the seat next to her; it opened one gold eye and stared at the two newcomers before going back to sleep. Ginny helped Maeve heave their trunks up into the luggage rack, and they plopped down onto the seat opposite the other young woman, who logged off her game and stuffed the PSP into a satchel at her feet.

"So, er—are you a transfer student?" Ginny asked.

The blue-haired girl laughed. "Oh, no. I'm a teacher."

Ginny's eyes went round. "Really? No way! You look so young!"

"Heh, thanks," she said. "Everyone tells me that. It's probably because I'm not that old."

"I like your hair," Maeve commented, impressed by the natural-seeming hue. "It looks so real."

"Oh, it is real," the woman explained, tossing her head proudly. "I always feel so sorry for the Dipfers, looking all normal the way they do…"

"'Dipfers'?" Ginny repeated.

"Oh, right. They're what you folk call 'Muggles' over here," she elucidated. "Sorry, I went to school at Estrellita, and we use some different terminology across the pond." She idly scratched her cat's head, and went on, "Oh, by the way, my name's Ivy. Ivy Valentine."

"Pleased to meet you. I'm Ginny, and this is Maeve…"

Maeve's jaw dropped. "_Ivy Valentine_! You mean, just like the character in—"

"No, no," Ivy corrected her. "If you remember, her real name was Ivy, but she also went by _Isabella_ Valentine, which was what her adoptive parents called her."

Ginny glanced back and forth, not following. "Who's—?"

"A character in a video game," Maeve explained. "A whole series of video games, in fact, starting with _Soulcalibur_ and all the way up to—"

"Hang on," Ginny said, cutting her off. "What's a video game?"

Maeve stopped short, utterly confused as to how someone could not know what a video game was. Ivy shook her head.

"Ginny clearly wasn't raised by Dipfers," she explained. "A lot of the stuff in the outside world isn't widely used among witches and wizards. Some of it doesn't even work well with magic around—I've noticed that nothing with components more complicated than a vacuum tube works if you get it near someplace like Hogwarts, which is so full of enchantments that there's a constant aura of magic, like background noise."

"Well, you two seem to be getting on well," Ginny commented. "My dad would love to have a chat with you sometime— He works for the Ministry of Magic," she added, "and he's just fascinated by Muggle artefacts of all kinds. I remember we used to have a car that he took apart, enchanted to fly and turn invisible, and put back together again." She chuckled. "Good times, those. Ron and Fred and George went to rescue Harry from the Dursleys in that car…" Her voice trailed off, and she looked out the window, her eyes suddenly sad. The train whistle blew just then, and the children milling outside began rushing around, giving their parents last-minute hugs and hurrying around with their trunks and cages. It was nearly ten o'clock, which was the departure time stamped on Maeve's ticket.

"Have you heard from Harry recently?" Ivy asked, and Ginny's head jerked back up.

"Yes," she said. "He's been off doing…things…ever since he defeated Voldemort, but he sends Hedwig by the Burrow regularly, and he's promised he's going to come see me this term." She smiled, a brilliant smile that made her even prettier, and Maeve realised that Harry must be her boyfriend. Ivy gave Maeve an odd look, then understanding flickered across her face.

"You're Muggle-born, right?" Ivy asked, and she nodded. The blue-haired woman gave a nod of her own. "We'll have to tell her all about the Wizarding world," she said meaningfully to Ginny, who smacked her forehead.

"Of course! I should've known. You don't even know who Harry Potter is!" The two women launched into an explanation of famous magic-users, all of which Maeve soaked up like a sponge, until there was a timid rap on the compartment door after the train had begun to move. They looked up, and a beautiful pale girl was standing there, a large black bird on her shoulder. Maeve thought it looked rather like one of Tira's Watchers from _Soulcalibur III_. Maeve stood up and opened the door.

"The other compartments are all full," the girl said quietly, scanning the room's occupants with eyes as black as her inky hair. Ginny stared hard at the newcomer for a moment with a very odd look on her face, then turned away, shaking her head. "Is it all right if I sit in here?" She had a Welsh accent.

"Oh, certainly," Ivy said, scooping her cat closer to make more room (he looked quite disgusted at the sudden interruption in his nap). Maeve noticed that the black-haired girl had only one small trunk with her, which she deftly lifted up onto the rack, her thin frame belying wiry strength. She sat down opposite Maeve and looked down shyly; she was a very pretty girl, with ivory skin and high cheekbones. Ginny still seemed confused, but said nothing.

"I'm Maeve," Maeve told her, shutting the door. "Are your parents Muggles, too? I had no idea I was a witch either; this is so exciting, but I'm a bit scared, too. What's your name?"

"Carlota," the new girl responded. "Yes, this is all so new to me. My parents…it's weird; they didn't seem surprised when I got my letter so much as worried, almost as if they were…I don't know, afraid something like this was going to happen…"

"What's your last name?" Ginny asked, sounding slightly more forceful than Maeve thought was necessary.

Carlota looked up, slightly alarmed. "Phoenix," she responded. "W…why?"

"Carlota Phoenix?" Ivy repeated. "That's a lovely name," and she shot a look at Ginny. Clearly, Maeve thought, there was something going on about which Ivy and Ginny were not ready to inform her. "And who is your bird?"

"Oh," Carlota said, smiling for the first time, "this is Gary." She looked up at him and made a clicking noise in her throat, and he responded by clacking his beak. "He says hello, and that your owl doesn't need to worry—he's not going to hurt him." Olcadan had been watching the much-larger bird warily.

"You can talk to birds?" Ivy asked, impressed. Carlota nodded.

"What about snakes?" Ginny asked. Carlota looked confused, and shook her head.

"No, but I've always been able to talk to birds," she explained. "Gary's actually been my friend for quite a while now…I think it's very good that I'm going to a magic school; Mum and Dad always thought it was weird that I could talk with birds, but now I guess it must be a magic talent or something."

"Since she's Muggle-born too, you'll have to tell us _both_ everything there is to know," Maeve said brightly, turning to Ginny, who still seemed slightly sullen for no apparent reason. Ginny forced a smile.

"Right," she said, and launched into an extensive (and heavily-biased, due to her obvious love) recounting of Harry Potter's history.

Ivy and Ginny stepped off the train, watching Maeve and Carlota hurry off after Hagrid to row across the lake. "Ginny," Ivy said sternly, putting a hand on her shoulder, "would you care to explain to me why you were so hostile to that new student, Carlota?"

Ginny dropped her gaze, looking both angry and embarrassed. "It's—it's complicated," she muttered. "I…don't suppose you know who Tom Riddle is—was, do you?"

"Of course I do. What's that have to do with anything?"

The redhead glanced after the crowd of first-years. "She… I think she looks like him. It just caught me off guard, you know?" Ivy furrowed her brow.

"Now that you mention it…" But then she shook her head. "I'm sure it doesn't mean anything. You heard what she said—both her parents are Muggles, her last name is _Phoenix_, she talks to birds—besides which, Tom Riddle had no living relatives, he made sure of that."

"Even so," Ginny grumbled, "it seems an awfully eerie coincidence to me…"

Maeve was amazed at the Great Hall in Hogwarts, with its enchanted ceiling and medieval-style architecture. Something nagged at the back of her mind, but the more she thought about it, the more slippery it became. She and all the other new students lined up in the middle of the hall, before a stool on which stood a very old and frayed hat. Suddenly, she knew: This hall was the place she had seen in her dream, and that hat—what was it doing here, anyway?—had been worn by one of the people therein, the tawny-haired one called Godric. She was just wondering, with a racing pulse, how she could have foreseen something like this—was it a talent, like Carlota's ability to speak with birds?—when a rip near the hat's brim opened like a mouth, and it began to sing. Maeve was still too bemused by the fact that her dreams might be clairvoyant to pay attention to the words of the song, and when it had finished, she absent-mindedly clapped along with the rest of the hall. A trim, sandy-haired woman stepped forward from the long table at the head of the hall, holding a long roll of parchment in one hand. She cleared her throat, and addressed the waiting line of students: "Adams, Eglantine."

The first girl in line, short and round with a pouf of golden hair, ran up to the stool and put the hat on; it was much too large for her, but as it slid down over her eyes, it called out "Hufflepuff!" so the entire hall could hear. Apparently, this was how students were Sorted. Maeve scanned the staff table for Apollonia, and caught her eye—she waved, and Apollonia smiled back at her. There was a dark-haired, olive-skinned man sitting near her that Maeve thought looked somewhat familiar, but couldn't identify how so. Other teachers at the long table ran the gamut, from a tiny gnomelike fellow who was barely visible over the table, to Ivy (who was easy to pick out due to her vibrant hair, which was the object of many glares from some of the other professors), to Hagrid the gamekeeper (who was apparently half-giant), to a sallow-skinned, black-haired man with a hooked nose; he looked very distracted, as if there was someplace else he desperately wanted to be. The line slowly inched forward, until finally Maeve found herself facing the stool.

"Kerrigan, Maeve."

Maeve's heart was beating very fast now. Even though Ginny had explained what the Houses at Hogwarts were, she didn't know which one she was going to be in; most people didn't, but that didn't stop her worrying. Her thoughts raced as she climbed up to the stool and lifted the hat. What if she was dreaming? What if, the moment she put on the Sorting Hat, she woke up, back to her mundane life, back in Allendale—

She sat down on the stool and gingerly placed the hat over her head, holding the crown up over her eyes with one hand. A tiny voice spoke in her ear.

"Well, goodness me! This is…well…" The Sorting Hat sounded flustered; Maeve's worry increased. "Dear me, you must be the most difficult student I've ever had to Sort. You're courageous, clever, resourceful, independent, and loyal, all in roughly equal measure…" The voice paused. "I have to say, I don't know. You could do well in any House, but I can't put you just anywhere. This…this has never happened before."

The sandy-haired teacher bent down, and saw Maeve's terrified eyes under the brim of the Sorting Hat. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"I—I—" Maeve began, but was cut off by a brilliant flash of light from the other end of the hall.

"Well, now!" The voice was very familiar. As the light faded, Maeve recognised the elflike woman—wearing a different dress and jewelry, but clearly the same person—from her dream, striding up the paved floor toward the stool. "It seems I have returned just in time, doesn't it?"

She glanced around the Great Hall. "Four…tables…?" she murmured, her eyes narrowing. "You," she demanded, tapping a random boy at the Ravenclaw table on the shoulder, "what do these tables represent?"

"Oh…er…" he stuttered, struck nearly dumb by her radiant beauty, "they're, er, the four Houses of Hogwarts—Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, Gryffindor, and Slytherin…"

"Four!" she repeated, stalking away. "After all I did for them, and they didn't even name a House after me…! Right, then, that's going to have to be rectified." She glided up the steps to the stool on which Maeve sat, lifted the Sorting Hat from its perch on the girl's head, and turned it over in her hands, examining it while murmuring phrases in a language Maeve didn't recognise, but which sounded musical and vaguely familiar.

"That should do it," the elflike woman said after a moment, holding the hat upright and replacing it on Maeve's head. The voice in her ear returned.

"Oh, yes, that's _much_ better… Oh, hmm, I might have some re-Sorting to do, yes…but I think now that I can safely put you in FATALUMA!" The last word was loud enough for the entire Hall to hear, and Maeve was quite relieved that she was, after all, not here by mistake, but the students and teachers murmured amongst each other.

Maeve hopped down from the stool and turned around to see a severe-looking witch, with square glasses and an impeccable bun, rise up from the tall-backed chair behind the staff table. "A fifth House?" the witch demanded, peering down her nose at the woman from Maeve's dream. "Might I ask who you are?"

"You do not know?" The shock in her voice was clearly audible. "I am Mab, Queen of the Fairies, Mother of They Who Walk in Dawn and Twilight! I simply cannot believe this. That the four founders, whom I took under my wing and taught as I would my own children, never passed down word of who their benefactress had been? Unbelievable! Simply unbelievable." Maeve thought she heard Mab mutter, "The ingrates."

"But—what…what are the qualities you would look for in the students you would pick for such a House…Mab?" the black-haired witch (probably the headmistress, Maeve realised) asked.

"Fataluma," Mab said, turning to face the hall with a sweeping regal gesture, "is for those who shine. Those whose souls sparkle with uncommon power. Creatures of noon and of midnight, wearers of glitter and silk, my House is the one for you. Are there any here—" she swept her gaze across the tables, full of older students— "who feel as though they are living a life that would not have been your choice? Expectations pressed upon you that seem somehow wrong? Come to me, don the Sorting Hat, and you will know."

"Yes, yes, that's all well and good," the headmistress said, apparently becoming slightly irritated at the whole proceedings, "but there are things besides new standards for Sorting—we've room for only four tables in here, for one, and a fifth House would need dormitories and a common room, not to mention a Head of House…"

"She can do it," Mab said, pointing behind her without looking back. Maeve stole a glance, however, and noticed that Mab had chosen Ivy. "I put my trust in her." Finally turning back, the fairy-queen gave the blue-haired woman a knowing smile, to which Ivy responded with a thrilled squeal. The headmistress was taken aback.

"Sh— she can—!" Her mouth went very thin and white, and one of her hands twitched on the surface of the table. "Well, I suppose we could—that means we'll have to—" She bent down and whispered in the ear of a male professor seated on her right side, and he rose from his chair and led Apollonia and Ivy from the room. The headmistress did not seem like the type to fluster easily; Maeve guessed that she was put off by the fact that an unknown woman had appeared in her Great Hall and taken command.

The headmistress cleared her throat. "Well, then, Queen…if that's all you needed—"

"Mm, yes," the elfin lady said, waving a hand magnanimously. "For now." There was another flash of light, and she disappeared. There was total silence in the Great Hall for a few moments, then talk burst out from all quarters.

"Quiet! Quiet, please! Your attention," the Headmistress called over the din, and the noise-level dropped significantly. "It appears that we have a new House here at Hogwarts…a new House, free to follow its own path, to shape its own future.

"I will not require anyone here to be re-Sorted," she went on, "but first-years already Sorted who wish to be reassessed, using the new criteria, may do so tonight. Older students who would like to be Sorted a second time may make appointments to see me within the next two weeks…" She ran a hand over her hair, which was still perfectly-groomed. "That is all. Please carry on."

A few students worked their way free from the tables at which they had already sat down and moved back to the line, obligingly taking up positions at the end. Two more students, a boy called Timothy Kipling and a girl by the name of Larissa Larsen, were Sorted into Fataluma (Ivy was lurking in the back of the hall, and with sweeping gestures, moved the four tables over slighty and conjured a fifth, at which Maeve gratefully went to sit down; her feet were beginning to hurt), and joined her, looking thrilled to be part of something new. Maeve looked up when she heard Carlota's name called.

The Sorting Hat was silent for a moment. Maeve crossed her fingers, hoping her new friend would be in the same House, but was disappointed when the headgear called out "Slytherin!" Not, however, as disappointed as the students at the table beneath the green-and-silver banners were; they all erupted in jeers and boos as Carlota rose and began to move to a seat.

"This is an outrage!" "It's got to be a mistake!" "There's no way—!" Through the chorus of angry overlapping voices, Maeve heard several obscene words, as well as something that sounded like "mud-blood". Carlota was horrified, rooted to the spot, looking like there was nothing she wanted more than to vanish forever into a hole in the ground. Gary launched off her shoulder and sped toward the Slytherins' table, cawing angrily. A few of the students put up arms to protect their faces, but most simply continued to rant, one or two throwing plates and utensils at the bird circling overhead.

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" bellowed a voice, and Maeve saw that the hook-nosed teacher had risen from his seat to glare down at the rioting students. They fell silent immediately, and he went on in a cold voice, "The Sorting Hat has never been wrong. Obviously, if it says Miss Phoenix belongs in Slytherin, she belongs in Slytherin. The founders would have agreed, _including_ our predecessor. Would you dishonour his memory so?"

The Slytherin students quieted down, contenting themselves with furious glares shot around the Great Hall. Carlota inched toward their table, receiving many dirty looks, and no one moved aside to give her a seat on the bench. The teacher who had yelled at them (perhaps the Head of Slytherin, Maeve wondered?) came down from the staff table, his robes billowing around him, and took her by the shoulder, steering her gently toward a seat. "Move over, you two," he demanded, shoving apart two larger boys who seemed mainly disgusted rather than hateful. He leaned down and whispered something in Carlota's ear once she had seated herself, then returned to his place at the staff table.

"What's going on?" Maeve wondered. "I'm not terribly familiar with attitudes here…" Timothy, sitting on her left side, answered.

"The Slytherins have always been real uptight about 'pure blood'," he explained. "A lot of them come from families that think magic learning should be kept in magical families, and people with Muggle parents shouldn't be allowed here."

"Well, that's hardly fair!" cried Larissa, who had seated herself across from them. "My dad's a wizard, but my mum's a Muggle. I really _want_ to learn magic—Dad's been showing me spells since I was little—what does it matter what somebody's parents are like?"

"I agree, it's really dumb," Timothy said. "There are loads of people from Muggle families that are absolutely brilliant at magic, and there are people in Wizarding families who can't do anything more complicated than changing the colour of their cat's whiskers. Blood is totally unrelated to skill." An owl shot over their heads just then, streaking toward the staff table, and everyone turned to watch as it swooped down toward the professor Maeve thought was the Head of Slytherin, and he stood up so fast his chair nearly toppled over. He glanced up the table to where the Headmistress sat; she gave him a nod, murmured something inaudible, and waved a hand. The professor hurried to her seat, whispered something in her ear, and then vanished abruptly with a sound much like the cracking of a whip. Mutters of surprise and speculation rose up from the students; the Headmistress rose from her chair.

"Please, continue with the Sorting," she directed. The new House received only two more members—a high-strung girl named Erica and a rather unremarkable-looking boy called Brian—but then the students who wanted to be re-Sorted had their turn, and three of them were reassigned to Fataluma: Amery Douglass, Wesley Feldon, and Amaryllis Jackson. Maeve still felt that their table was quite empty compared to the other four tables in the hall, but nobody else seemed to mind. The sandy-haired witch lifted the stool and Hat together and bore them out of the Great Hall as the Headmistress rose from her chair again.

"Before we begin the feast," she said to all assembled, "I would like to welcome all of you to Hogwarts. This year promises to bring many changes…" Maeve couldn't help noticing how long her eyes lingered on the Fataluma table— "but further discussion can wait until we have supped." She sat back down, and suddenly all the tables were covered with platters of food—chicken pies, roast beef, puddings, more variety than Maeve had ever seen in one place before—along with jugs and goblets filled with a pale orange liquid that smelled vaguely of pumpkins. As she filled her plate (knowing full well that she couldn't possibly hope to sample everything, even if she took the tiniest portions physically possible), Maeve noticed the Headmistress excuse herself from the staff table and leave the room; she returned several minutes later with Ivy and Apollonia in tow, and they all reclaimed their positions at the High Table.

Once Maeve had stuffed herself (the offerings on the table were a welcome break from the frozen dinners she had become accustomed to over eleven years), all the crumbs on the plates faded, and the dishes of meat and vegetables vanished only to be replaced by an equally mind-boggling number of desserts. Maeve groaned sadly; she hadn't thought to save room. Hoping none of the treats laid out would go to waste if uneaten by the other children at the table with her, she helped herself to a small bowl of Jell-O, then sat back and waited for the Headmistress to finish her dinner and address the students.

"Well, now," said Ginny, who was seated behind Maeve's back and facing the opposite direction at the Gryffindor table, "your first day here and you're already making waves!"

"I…well, I didn't mean to cause anyone trouble," Maeve demurred.

"Trouble! No, this is probably the most interesting thing ever to happen at Hogwarts—beats out Fred and George turning a corridor into a swamp by quite a margin." To assuage the confused look, she went on, "It's a bit of a story—I'll have to tell you about it sometime." She glanced up at the staff table. "Oh—" The Headmistress had risen from her chair. The noise in the Hall died down quickly.

"Now that we have all eaten," she said, after clearing her throat, "I have a few start-of-term announcements to make.

"Firstly, our students both new and old are reminded that magic in the corridors between classes is not allowed, and exploring the Forbidden Forest on the castle grounds is strictly prohibited. Quidditch tryouts for House teams will be held in the second week of the term; please see Madam Hooch if you are interested.

"Lastly, I am pleased to announce the appointment of new faculty and curricula," she said, and gestured at others seated at the table as she spoke. "Professor Zenobio Tsolakis, recently arrived from Greece, will be taking over the Defence Against the Dark Arts post." There was scattered applause at this. He was the handsome black-haired mage Maeve thought looked familiar. "Apollonia Frye, professor of Enchantment, is Head of Gryffindor House as of today." Apollonia beamed, and Maeve clapped louder than anyone around her. "And finally, Ivy Valentine—who has been appointed Head of Fataluma—will be beginning the teaching of Illusion, as well as substituting for Potions when necessary." Most of the other professors, Maeve noticed, did not seem particularly happy about the Headmistress' last sentence, applauding only half-heartedly.

"Why don't they like Ivy?" Maeve wondered to Ginny.

"It's probably because she's so young," the other girl surmised. "A hair colour that lurid can't be helping, either. I'm guessing that she's a Metamorphmagus, like Tonks, and a lot of people didn't like the fact that Tonks kept her hair bright pink most of the time." Noting the half-formed question, she went on, "A Metamorphmagus is someone who has the ability to change their appearance at will. It's a talent, can't be taught or learned, like Parseltongue—that's the ability to speak with snakes—or the ability to predict the future."

"You are dismissed," the Headmistress finished. "Have a good night's rest, and I look forward to seeing you all tomorrow morning." The other tables all rose to leave the Hall, but Ginny lingered behind Maeve for a moment.

"Oh, your House don't have prefects yet," she observed. "That may be a problem. I'd help, but I have no idea where your dormitories are… Oh, I've gotta run, I'm Head Girl—I'll see you later!"

Now that Maeve thought about it, she was mildly concerned. She became aware of the fact that most of the other students were glancing over at the Fataluma table as they shuffled out of the Great Hall, and felt very self-conscious to be sitting there with only seven other children, but her concern lifted immediately when Ivy rushed over, clutching what looked like a spear entwined with vines of—what else?—ivy.

"I'll show you to where we'll be living," she panted. "Sorry I'm out of breath—had to run and get my stuff," she said, indicating the spear.

"What's that?" Brian asked.

"Oh, this—this is my focus," Ivy explained. "I use a staff instead of a wand."

Maeve thought back to shopping in Diagon Alley, where the wandmaker had had her try dozens of different wands to see which one suited her best; none had seemed to please him, but he had finally sold her one that he said was the best he could provide (seeming very flustered). "Do we really need focuses—er, foci?"

"Well, no," Ivy explained, leading her students from the Hall. "The Canadian school of magic teaches their students to channel raw magic energy; they don't use wands, staves, or any other objects. I interned there for a while, and I learned to follow some of the techniques they use. I still prefer Undrentide—" she nodded to her spear— "as my focus, at least for most magic."

Professor Tsolakis came up alongside Ivy. "Professor Valentine, do you mind if I speak with Maeve in my office for a moment?" He had very little accent, surprising given his very Mediterranean appearance. Ivy glanced over at Maeve.

"I…suppose not. What's up?"

"Professor Frye mentioned that she had some difficulty in Ollivander's," Tsolakis said, and he turned to address Maeve, who glanced at Ivy for direction.

"I know where his office is," she said. "I'll come by and grab you once I've shown the other students to the dorm."

Maeve followed the teacher to his office in silence, torn between concern that she had somehow done something wrong and quiet admiration for the professor ahead of her. He was very handsome, and his bearing was slightly noble. He almost, she thought, resembled one of the Greek gods, except for his dark hair and complexion—all the pictures in her books of mythology depicted the ancient deities as fair-skinned and blonde.

"I…I haven't done anything wrong, have I…?" she finally asked, as he opened the door to a large study and stepped aside to let her in.

"Oh, no! Of course not. It's not even your first day of class. Why, were you planning on doing something wrong?" he asked, eyes twinkling.

"N-no," she said, feeling relieved. Maeve glanced around the office and was amazed at the array of maps, diagrams, and artefacts arranged about the room. "Wow," she breathed.

"You like it?" Professor Tsolakis asked, heading for a tall cabinet behind the desk. "None of the recent Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers stayed here for more than a year or so; the office was quite empty and well-worn when I moved in, and I got to do all the decorating myself." He looked over his shoulder. "Go ahead, sit down! What are you waiting for?" Mildly surprised, she dropped herself into one of the overstuffed armchairs near the fireplace, which was dark and empty. Tsolakis seemed to notice this, for he muttered a word and the logs in the fireplace burst into flame. Turning back to the cabinet, he extracted a long thin box with triangular etchings on it; as he shut the cabinet and approached the other armchair, Maeve got a better look at the markings, and thought they rather resembled cuneiform.

"Right," he said, sliding the lid from the wooden case and reaching inside. What he pulled out was a long, slender rod of metal with two flattened loops on the end; the thing was whitish-gold in colour, and had filaments of a red-gold metal wrapped around the shaft. It looked, Maeve thought with a thrill, just like the _Rod of Frost_ from the computer game Neverwinter Nights. "Why don't you give this a try?"

Maeve took the wand and felt an immediate warmth in her fingers, along with a sudden rush of emotion, almost as if the wand were responding to her touch. She waved it experimentally, and the tip glowed blue and sent out a cascade of azure sparks. "Oh!" she gasped. "I like this one!" Reverently resting it in her hands, she said, "Mr. Ollivander seemed very frustrated for some reason. I don't know what he was searching for, but he didn't seem satisfied with any of the wands he had me try, not even the one he sold me… I wonder why he didn't have any like this one in his shop." She made to hand it back to Professor Tsolakis, but he declined.

"Keep it. It's never worked properly for me, and now I know why. Mr. Ollivander probably told you that the wand chooses the wizard, not the other way around—that's the truth. _This_ is the wand you were meant to use. Why don't you bring me the one you bought in Diagon Alley when you have your lesson tomorrow?"

Surprised into silence, Maeve could do nothing but turn the wand over and over in her hands, examining it. Finally she asked, "What's it made of?"

"Ah," Tsolakis said, smiling, "something uncommonly used for wandmaking nowadays. You probably noticed that all of Mr. Ollivander's wands for sale were made of wood with some kind of magical core. In ages past—particularly during the Middle Ages, when alchemy was most popular—it was common to craft wands and rods from other materials, including stone and metal. This particular specimen is made of Aurichalcum with a core of electrum."

"Aurichalcum—?" Maeve repeated, looking down at the wand with renewed awe. "Wait, isn't that brass?"

"I see you know your chemistry," he said approvingly. "Actually, modern Muggle scientists can't settle on what the ancients meant when they referred to 'Aurichalcum' or 'orihalcum'. Many agree that it was, indeed, an early alloy similar to brass. Magical Aurichalcum, however, is a mixture of gold, silver, copper, and hydrargyum."

"Hydrargyum!" she cried, concerned. "That's Latin for 'mercury'!"

"Yes, but there's no need to worry," he assured her. "Aurichalcum is utterly nontoxic, and can actually be beneficial in some cases, when worn as jewelry or used in a potion."

"Oh…okay," she agreed, unsure what else to say. "What about electrum?"

"Ah, yes. That, unlike Aurichalcum, occurs naturally. It is comprised of gold and silver, occasionally with trace amounts of other metals. The electrum in this wand, I believe, has a touch of platinum."

Maeve gaped; she couldn't help it. "But—but that means—this wand must be worth thousands of Euros!"

He shrugged. "Quite possibly. But that doesn't matter, as you're not planning on selling it to any Muggles, are you?" He fixed her with a significant look.

"N—no! Of course not," she said hastily. "It's just—I never—" She exhaled, forcing herself to calm down. "I mean, _platinum_…"

There was a knock on the doorframe just then, and they both turned around to see Ivy's head poking into the room. "Hello there," she said. "Got everything sorted out?"

"I think so," Tsolakis said with a smile, giving the other teacher a nod. "Good night, Maeve. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

When Maeve and Ivy arrived at the common room and dormitories for Fataluma—a new wing of Hogwarts conjured that very night—they found the Headmistress waiting outside the door, with none other than Carlota by her side.

"Professor?" Ivy prompted.

"Severus has asked a favour of me," Professor McGonagall explained, and indicated the raven-haired girl. "He is concerned for Miss Phoenix, and since he cannot be here tonight, he requested that she spend the night with a friend. She has asked to sleep here, with Miss Kerrigan."

"Where is Professor Snape, anyway?" Ivy asked. The Headmistress shook her head.

"He has asked me not to reveal that information. When he returns, he will inform whom he deems appropriate."

"I see. Can you tell me how long he will be gone?"

"He was unable to give an estimate, but I expect he will be back no later than dawn. You will be informed if it is necessary for you to substitute tomorrow."

"All right," Ivy agreed, then looked down at Carlota. "Got all your stuff, then?"

"Yes," the girl responded. The Headmistress nodded curtly, bade them good night, and strode off.

"Titania," Ivy said to the leaf-clad nymph in the painting on the door, and the figure in the artwork smiled and the door swung open. "Do you have a cage for your bird?"

"Gary?" Carlota looked confused as she hauled her trunk into the common room, which was two stories high and had a ceiling studded with stained-glass windows. "No. Why would he need a cage?"

Ivy's eyebrows rose. "Well, if he's well-trained enough… Still, it might make the other kids worried if he's loose all the time."

Carlota looked scandalised. "I couldn't do anything like that to him! It's enough that he decided to leave his flock back home and come here with me. I can't ask any more of him." Gary made a clucking sound at her, and she gave him a look. "What do you mean, 'it's okay'? You'd hate it! Besides, I don't have a cage."

Ivy waved her hands. "Well, it probably won't matter for just one night." She pointed to a door next to a large, flowery bush. "Your dormitories are in there. There should be enough beds for everyone."


	4. Chapter Three

**Chapter Three : Legacies  
**

Maeve woke up early the next morning and just lay in bed with her eyes closed.

This hasn't been a dream, has it? she wondered, cracking one eye open. The stained-glass windows set in the dormitory walls were ablaze with fresh morning sunlight, visible even through the canopy and hangings covering her four-poster bed. Maeve sat straight up, her heart filled with joy. An old-fashioned alarm clock near one of the other beds in the girls' dorm began to ring; Maeve checked her watch and saw that it was eight o'-clock. Figuring it was time for her to get up, she twitched aside the bed hangings and hopped out of bed, hearing stirs from the other students in there. Gary, perched on the windowsill, turned a shiny black eye to her, then peered meaningfully at the window.

What, you want to go out? Maeve wondered. I don't know if I—Oh, let him, came Carlota's voice, sounding muffled by pillows. It's okay. She leapt to her feet and went to the window, unlocking and uncranking the casement. Gary slipped out and took wing, flying silently over the dewy grass.

He always likes to go out in the morning, Carlota explained, appearing between the bed-hangings. It's a bird thing. The other students in the dormitory had started to get up as well, roused by the ringing alarm clock. All, Maeve noticed, except one—the girl on whose nightstand the clock stood. Faint snoring was still audible from behind the hangings, and Amaryllis Jackson stalked over to the bed and yanked the hangings open.

she cried in exasperation. The sleeping girl gave a start and rolled over. Come on, get up! You don't want to be late for classes your first day at Hogwarts, do you?Ah! I'm up, Erica grunted, sitting up hurriedly. Wh—what time is it?It's only eight, Amaryllis said, returning to her corner of the room and opening her trunk. Honestly, what would you do without me? How did you manage to sleep through the alarm clock?I dreamt it was a telephone, Erica explained sheepishly, standing up and stretching. I had a dream I was visiting my grandpa Tony's house—he's a Muggle She stifled a huge yawn, and her eyes fell upon Carlota. Hey, aren't you a Slytherin?

Carlota glanced over, suddenly very self-conscious. she began, but Maeve stepped in.

Yeah, but she spent the night here because Professor Snape—is he the Head of Slytherin?— Erica nodded— thought that it would be safer for her here. Don't you remember how when she was Sorted last night, the Slytherin table pitched a fit?

Erica thought for a moment, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. Oh, right. Her. She looked up again. Where's your bird? Carlota answered, still seeming very shy. Maeve went over and put a hand on her shoulder.

It's all right, Carlota! We're not a bunch of genetics-obsessed gits like the kids in Slytherin. We don't hate you just because your parents are Muggles.I couldn't understand some of what they were saying, Carlota admitted after a few more moments of silence. I think they were calling me names, like—like mud-blood

Larissa Larsen gasped and turned half-around, still buttoning up her white shirt. Those hypocrites! They're such a bunch of— She went on to use a few more descriptors that made Carlota squeak; Maeve knew that, as easygoing as her parents were, she would be heavily disciplined if they ever heard anything like that come out of her mouth. Looping her necktie under the collar of her shirt, she explained, Mudblood is a very strong derogatory term for someone with Muggle parentage. It's about as bad as things like— She listed off another set of words, some of which Maeve didn't recognise, but the ones she did made her face go warm.

Good God, Erica muttered, looking embarrassed. I don't even swear like that, and I have Tourette's Syndrome!

Maeve looked up. Oh, you do? Do you have the swearing tic? I thought it was really rare.

Erica's face brightened. Oh, brill! You actually know what Tourette's is?Yeah, there was a boy who went to my primary school who had it. He was nice and really smart, but got annoyed whenever people called Tourette's Syndrome that swearing disease'. All he did was blink a lot, and occasionally roll his pencil between his fingers for a minute at a time.

Erica nodded. I don't actually have coprolalia either, but I've a horrible temper, and I've been known to say things that make Mum threaten to wash my mouth out with magic.So don't say them around your parents, Larissa suggested. That's what I do.

The ceiling of the Great Hall was a faint, clear blue colour, mirroring the morning sky outside. Sunlight streamed into the eastward-facing windows as Maeve, Carlota, and the other girls trooped in to have breakfast. Ivy was standing at the Fataluma table, handing out slips of parchment to students standing around her. Maeve waved and ran over, trying not to trip on the hem of her robes; they weren't over-large, but would take some getting used to. Ivy smiled.

Have a good night's sleep? she asked, riffling through the sheaf of parchment in her arms. Ah, here we are— She handed Maeve a small scroll. This is your course schedule for this term. Maeve took it and scanned down the list, excited. Her first subject was Potions (why didn't they just call it Alchemy?), in a room she realised was one of the dungeons. Carlota peered over her shoulder, then glanced up at Ivy. Before she could say anything, Ivy explained, Professor Snape isn't back yet, but he's supposed to get here any— She looked up, past the black-haired girl, and nodded. There he is now.

Carlota and Maeve spun around; Snape had, indeed, just entered the hall, wearing the same flowing black robes he had been in last night. It didn't look as if he had slept at all; there was a darkness around his eyes that was almost balanced out by the glow of his face—was that pride?—and his shoulder-length hair, which had been partially tied back the night before, was now pulled back in a full ponytail. He approached Carlota, brushed a stray strand of hair from his face, and smiled in the manner of an uncle regarding his favourite niece.

I trust your first night here was all right? he asked. There was a choking sound behind Maeve, and she spun around to see Ginny slam down her glass of orange juice. Maeve rushed over to pat her older friend on the back, waiting for her cough to subside, and leaned over her shoulder.

What's wrong?

Ginny twitched. What's gotten into Snape? she hissed. He's—he's almost acting like—a _person_.Yeah, seriously, muttered a boy across the table from her. I think he actually washes his hair now, too.

A girl on his right side put down her forkful of kipper. D'you know, I heard he was gone a lot during the summer—a few of the teachers were talking about how he hasn't planned his lessons for this year as thoroughly as he used to.

Ginny snorted. I bet I know where he was. Glancing up at her fellow Gryffindors' expectant expressions, she went on, Ever since he killed Professor Dumbledore on accident a couple years ago, he's been a bit different—I don't know if I'd say sorry, more like worried that someone's going to be displeased with him if he doesn't treat Dumbledore well from now on.what? You think he's Dumbledore's personal bitch now? the boy across from her asked. Maeve wanted to stay and listen to the gossip, but Ivy reached over and pointed out that there was a plate sitting on the Fataluma table for her, and if she didn't fill it soon, the other students would take all the food.

Professor Snape, leading Carlota, brushed past them as Maeve sat down. Ivy watched him, inhaling deeply as if taking in a scent. she called after him, and he paused to glance back at her. Where did you go?

He looked for a moment as if he wasn't about to answer, but then the corners of his mouth twitched slightly upward, and he responded, Turning away again, he led the black-haired girl between the tables to the one beneath the Slytherin banners, where a mass of students were waiting for their course schedules.

Maeve sat down and helped herself to some food, just as a great rustling filled the Hall; she looked up and noticed that dozens of owls were pouring in through the windows, owls of all sizes and colours, bearing envelopes and packages. Erica, noting her stunned expression, leaned over and explained, Owl post.

There was a thrilled cry from Ginny, who was seated behind Maeve at the other table, and Maeve twisted round in her seat. Hedwig! That's Hedwig! The red-haired girl leapt up, hands outstretched, to the beautiful snowy owl gliding down toward her, which had a tiny dark box clutched in its feet. Hedwig dropped the parcel in Ginny's hands and landed gracefully on the table, sampling some of the bacon on Ginny's plate. Ginny fumbled with the box, the other students watching her, and there was a collective gasp. Maeve scrambled to her feet and peered between Ginny and her neighbour, and gasped as well: It was a jewelry box, holding a beautiful diamond-and-carnelian engagement ring. A glimpse of movement, and a rippling murmur, directed everyone's eyes to the great doors, where a young man had just strode calmly in: Tall, wiry, and with a mess of black hair, he scanned down the Gryffindor table until his eyes found Ginny. She squealed and dashed to him, and he caught her in a tight embrace. A few people in the Hall cheered.

Maeve heard him ask.

Ginny responded, kissing him fiercely all over his face. Maeve glanced over to the Slytherin table and saw Carlota looking happy for the couple, while Professor Snape turned away with definite disgust.

Ivy breathed behind Maeve, who's _that_? Maeve know she wasn't talking about the newly-arrived Harry Potter—who was now chivalrously slipping the engagement ring onto Ginny's finger, and being surrounded by students tossing out praise and congratulations—but the handsome man standing behind Harry like a bodyguard, with black hair that looked like it fell to the middle of his back. Some distance behind him were a young woman with vivid pink hair and a nondescript fellow who, though still reasonably young, had visible silver streaks in his hair. Ivy made as if to approach them, but before she could move, Ginny had taken Harry by the hand and was leading him back in the direction of the the Gryffindor and adjacent Fataluma tables. The three adults followed behind Harry, occasionally glancing around the Hall; the students, though eager and thrilled, parted readily to let the little group pass. Maeve, feeling shy, bent over the table to pour herself some orange juice as various students along the Gryffindor table exchanged greetings with Harry; she even noticed Hagrid come down from the staff table out of the corner of her eye.

said Ginny's voice abruptly behind her; Maeve nearly jumped, but turned around smoothly, trying not to seem too nervous. Ginny and Harry were holding hands, and Ginny's face was glowing with joyous exuberance. I want you to meet my fiancé, Harry Potter. Harry smiled and offered his other hand, and Maeve hurriedly put down her glass to shake it. This is Maeve Kerrigan, Ginny explained, the girl who's so unique they had to create a new House just for her. Harry said. I wondered why there was another table in here. He looked up past her, and Maeve had to duck out of the way as Hagrid engulfed him and Ginny in a hug, sounding very much like he was sobbing as he spoke to them.

Harry, it's—it's good ter—see yeh—! He sniffed loudly, and Harry returned the embrace by patting Hagrid's shoulder, which was about as far as his arm could reach. Maeve felt mildly concerned for Ginny, who was no longer visible. This's—I'm so happy for yeh—both of yeh—an' I'm sure yer parents would be so proud if they could see yeh nowThanks, Hagrid, Harry said, politely extricating himself and Ginny. A red crease ran up one of Ginny's cheeks where it had been smushed against Hagrid's thick waistcoat, but she looked just as happy as ever. Maeve glanced past them, and noticed how sad the pink-haired woman and gray-haired guy seemed to be beneath their happiness. Feeling a sudden surge of pity, she pushed past other students (as well as Ivy, who was asking the black-haired bodyguard his name; he seemed incredulous that she hadn't recognised him immediately); she stuck out her hand to the young woman, whose hair was just as anime-ish as Ivy's, and introduced herself.

the woman said, returning the handshake. Wotcher, Maeve. I'm Tonks. She jerked her head back over her shoulder, and the man flanking her stepped forward. This is my husband, Remus.Remus Lupin, he elaborated, shaking Maeve's hand as well. I take it you're friends with Ginny? Maeve nodded. If you ever need help with your Defence Against the Dark Arts homework, he advised her, she's the one to talk to. One of the best students I've ever seen when it comes to hexing and counterspells. He smiled, but his eyes remained slightly sad. I'm glad she and Harry found each other. I wish them the best of happiness. Tonks made a noise that sounded like a sob, and Maeve turned to her.

Are you all right? Is something wrong? The young woman shook her head, but her eyes were filled with tears.

Remus whispered, putting a hand on her shoulder. Hush, it'll be all right She sniffed and leaned back into his embrace, still looking upset. Maeve knew better than to press for details, so she went back to her table and finished breakfast.

As she was about to leave, Harry returned to her table after a round of handshaking and congratulations among the staff (except Snape, who had turned the other direction and pretended Harry wasn't there; Harry, however, didn't seem to mind that fact at all). Hey, can I talk to you for a minute? he asked Maeve, gesturing toward the entrance hall.

I suppose so, as long as I'm not late for my first class, she said, allowing him to lead her out into the corridor, where a few students were making their way to their lessons. Harry headed straight for a tapestry on the wall; she followed, slightly confused, and watched as he lifted one edge and revealed a hidden door.

In here, he said, holding the door open for her. It led to a tiny, dark hallway, at the other end of which was a small room filled with a weird glow that seemed to emanate from a few of the stones comprising the wall. Don't worry, this won't take long.

I get the feeling from Ginny, he explained to her as he rummaged through his cloak pockets, that you're the one I should pass—this—onto. He dug out an ancient, tattered piece of parchment, folded roughly into squares; it looked as if it were about to fall apart. Seeing her bemused look, he grinned and went on, It's something I got from her older brothers, Fred and George—infamous troublemakers when they were at school, ask anyone here—when I was in my third year. I've been wondering what I should do with it—I figured it needed to be passed on to the next generation, but I didn't know if I should make someone my successor, or what. Here, I'll show you what it does— He knelt on the floor, and she bent over next to him; Harry unfolded the scrap, which turned out to be quite large, and pulled out his wand.

Here's what you do, he instructed, glancing at her. Tapping the parchment with his wand, he said, _I solemnly swear that I am up to no good._ Maeve watched, amazed, as lines of ink appeared and spread across the page from the point where his wand had touched; the lines formed into words along the top and an intricate pattern spread across the middle. It was a map of Hogwarts.

You see here, Harry said, pointing at the names at the top, Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs? They're code-names of former Hogwarts students. Prongs was my dad's name. Moony and Padfoot were his friends Lupin and Sirius—they came with me today— Maeve nodded. Anyway, they made this map while they were at school, and it shows every detail of the castle and grounds, right down to the cabinets in Filch's office. Maeve peered closer, and noticed that the dots covering the map were moving, like tiny ants. And it shows locations of people, too, and their names—see? Here we are. He pointed with the tip of his wand, and Maeve saw that there were two tiny ink figures close together in a room, one labeled _Harry Potter_, the other _Maeve Kerrigan_.

That's brilliant! she gushed, impressed. Does it show animals and stuff, too? Harry answered. And anyone who's invisible or under the effects of Polyjuice Potion shows up as normal, too. He noticed the half-formed question and elucidated, Polyjuice Potion lets you disguise yourself as someone else, but it doesn't fool the Marauder's Map.I see, she said.

And when you're finished using it— he said, tapping the map again, you say, _Mischief managed_'. As he spoke the words, the ink on the parchment vanished, leaving it quite as blank and useless-looking as before. You've got to remember to do that, or else anyone can read it. He folded it back up, rose to his feet, and presented it to Maeve.

You're—you're just giving it to me? she asked, awestruck.

Well, yeah. I'm done with school—I don't need it anymore. she whispered. Not a problem, he demurred, grinning. I'm sure Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs would have been just as happy making sure it was seeing use with the next generation ofshall we say, nonconformist Maeve returned his smile, elated. Oh, the exploring she was going to do!

As they left the room, Maeve paused and turned back to Harry. Oh, there was something I noticed, she said. Tonks and Remus looked happy for you and all, but it seemed like they were really upset about something, too. Are they okay?

Harry smiled gently. You're a very kind girl to care, he said. Don't tell anyone I told you this—they don't want it getting out—but Lupin, that is, Remus, has aand he and Tonks want to have children, but they're terribly worried about whether their kids would inherit it. He thought for a moment. It really seems to be bothering Tonks, though. She never used to cry about it. Hmm He shrugged. Well, don't worry about it, but it's good to know that you care. Glancing at his watch, he said, It's about ten minutes to the first bell—you'll want to head to class. They exited the hidden door, and Maeve waved goodbye as she tucked the Marauder's Map into her robes. I'll see you around! Harry called.

Maeve's first class—Potions—was, indeed, held in a dungeon. She was surprised to see that the Fataluma first-years had it the same period as the Slytherin students; she immediately went to sit down next to Carlota, who was frowning as she studied a potion recipe in her textbook. Gary sat on her shoulder, peering down at the page, and occasionally emitting a soft croaking sound. A Slytherin boy seated behind Carlota made a noise of disgust.

Why isn't that bird in the owlery where it belongs? he sneered.

He's not an owl, Carlota responded, not raising her eyes from the page. Gary clicked his beak. No, we're not making this potion today—look at the ingredient list! Did you even _see_ powdered mungscale in Diagon Alley? I'm just looking at it! He tossed his head and clucked.

Why do you talk to that thing? asked a girl down the bench, with a sharp face and short yellow-brown hair.

She can communicate with birds, Maeve said firmly, leaning back to stare at the other girl. Why, are you jealous?I don't care if she can communicate with _aliens_, the boy behind them growled, it shouldn't be here with—Now, Joseph, said Snape's voice from the back of the classroom, there is no rule against having animal companions in class. He swept up to the head of the room, looking better than he had on arrival, though still obviously sleep-deprived; his hair was brushed, and he was wearing fresh-pressed black robes of a different cut. You wouldn't want to have to leave _your_ pet with the owls, would you? Joseph looked furious; apparently he had expected Snape to side with him. Now, then, the professor went on, addressing the class. You will not need your wands in this class. The art of potion-making is very subtle Snape continued his description, his voice low but very clear, and all the students sat in silence, listening: Maeve thought it sounded fascinating, but kept being distracted by the jars of oddly-shaped objects floating in murky fluid that were placed all around the room. Carlota had closed her book and was taking notes; Maeve didn't even notice that Snape was staring at her until he called for her attention. Carlota had to poke her.

What is your name? he asked. The Slytherin boy behind her sniggered; clearly, he was hoping to see her lambasted in front of the other students.

Um, Maeve, she said quickly. Maeve Kerrigan.Miss Kerrigan, Professor Snape said, leaning on his lectern and regarding her with his cold black eyes, the study of Potions is one which you will likely require throughout your time at Hogwarts. I recommend _paying attention_.

She blinked and nodded mutely. He straightened up, glanced around the room, and asked, Can anyone tell me what happens when ground _Coprinus micaceus_ is added to a boiling solution of weak tea and _Pholiota_ fungus?

_Pholiota_? Was that anything like Hypha Facia? Maeve cried, her hand shooting into the air. Snape looked very surprised, but gave her a prompting look. That's easy! It's a Drain Fatigue potion.

Snape's eyebrows rose higher; Maeve sensed the other students in the room staring at her back. The professor cleared his throat.

And may I ask, Miss Kerrigan, where you learned that piece of information? She stopped. If Professor Snape was a full-blown wizard, without technological experience, how would she explain that the computer game Morrowind had taught her everything she knew about alchemy? from a She paused uncomfortably. computer gameA computer game, he repeated, and several of the Slytherin students chuckled unpleasantly. I believe that is a form of Muggle entertainment, yes? She nodded. the game could have been wrong, she said in a rush, trying to save face.

Or it could have been created by a wizard, he said, the faintest hint of a smile quirking his mouth. I am surprised. I have never given Muggles much credit for understanding the ways of magic, but every so often they surprise me Yes, indeed, _Coprinus micaceus_ and _Pholiota_, when combined in the proper proportions and under the right conditions, form a potion known as the Elixir of Awakening, which dispels fatigue more effectively than caffeine. Maeve opened her mouth, about to point out that drain fatigue' in Morrowind meant the opposite of what he was talking about, but stopped herself. She furtively glanced around the room, and felt a strange surge of pleasure at how thunderstruck most of the Slytherin students were that she hadn't been shot down. The exception was Carlota, of course, who looked quite impressed.

Professor Snape strode around his desk and slid the top off a small, shallow chest. The ingredients you will need are in here, he explained, and I recommend taking no more than is necessary for one batch, as there will likely be a few students who do not succeed on their first attempt. If you are one, there is no need for concern: This potion will not be graded; it is merely an assessment. He glanced around the room, ignoring the fact that most of the Slytherin students looked scandalised, and finished with, The recipe can be found on page 189 of your textbook. I expect everyone to have a sample ready by the end of the hour. He turned, cloak swirling behind him, and sat down behind the desk. Students began shuffling up to collect bits of the mushrooms in the box on his desk; Maeve overheard Joseph, the boy who had been sitting behind her and Carlota, ask Snape (in a rather pointed tone) if he was feeling all right, to which he received the reply Quite well, thank you, and was waved back to his bench.

The professor seemed quite oblivious to the whispered comments shot about the dungeon for most of the period; Maeve gradually gleaned that, in past years, Snape had been known to show special favour to the students of his House, and the new crop of first-years were quite annoyed not to be receiving such treatment.

Alchemy was nowhere near as easy as Morrowind made it out to be. The mushrooms had to be ground into a fine powder using the mortar and pestle—a difficult task, even with the fruiting bodies dried and crumbly—and she accidentally left the tea-strainer in her cauldron a minute too long, making her tea slightly stronger than what was described in her textbook. Irritated, but determined to prove she knew what she was doing, she poured the powdered _Coprinus_ into the murky mixture simmering in her cauldron, stirred it anticlockwise, and was impressed when the liquid turned a clear lavender colour, like the sky just before dawn or just after sunset. She checked the recipe; that was what it was supposed to do. Curious, she ladled out a spoonful and tried it; it tasted a bit like grape Fanta, a bit like herbal tea. It didn't seem to make her more alert, though. I need a retort or a calcinator, she mumbled, thinking of Morrowind: They were tools in the game used to make potions more potent. She went back to scanning the recipe, seeing if she had missed something, and hadn't noticed Snape passing by her desk as he wandered the dungeon, checking the students' progress.

What was that, Miss Kerrigan? he asked quietly. Did I hear you expressing a wish for additional equipment? she said, glancing up. I, er—

Snape moved around to the front of her desk and sampled the elixir in the cauldron. Very good so far, he said, but the tea tastes a bit strong. You may want an alembic apparatus rather than a calcinator He moved back to the cabinet against the wall and returned with an object constructed of tubes and round flasks, which he placed on the desk next to her cauldron. Pour your potion into this well and heat it. Distillation for about— he took another taste— five minutes should drive off the excess tea. He peered into Carlota's cauldron and nodded approvingly. I see you are coming along as well, Miss Phoenix. However, you may want to spend a little more time grinding your mushrooms in the future: I can pick out individual pieces, which means the _Coprinus_ has not been fully dissolved into the tea infusion. She mumbled something, and he raised a hand. Don't apologise; this is only your first day.

The other Slytherin students were watching Maeve and Carlota with nothing short of loathing at this point. Maeve was sure they wouldn't do anything while the professor was present, but worried what she and her friend might have to endure after class ended. She tried not to listen to the mutinous muttering behind her, hoping that if something happened, a teacher would intervene. What was that Ginny had said about Slytherin House? Every dark wizard or witch in the last hundred years has come from Slytherin, including Voldemort. Maeve had noticed that Ginny and Ivy, unlike most of the other magic-users she had encountered so far, did not refer to the infamous and recently-defeated Dark Lord Voldemort by a euphemism like , as if they were afraid of being heard, like naming the Dark One from _Wheel of Time_. Maeve didn't understand; the bloke was dead at this point—Harry had killed him, Ginny and Ivy had told her—so what did it matter if you said his name? Force of habit, most likely, she thought, as she decanted her potion and began to distill it. Snape returned to the head of the classroom, brought out a well-worn set of alchemy equipment from a cabinet behind his desk, and began to make his own potion. He was done well before any of the students began bringing up their samples, leaning back in his chair and sipping the purplish brew as if enjoying a morning cup of coffee. Carlota and Maeve came up together, Carlota with an expression of shock on her face.

Professor—you—you're not going to test all these samples yourself, are you—? she asked, concerned.

Well, how else would you suggest I evaluate them? he asked conversationally. I appreciate your concern, Miss Phoenix, but I assure you my knowledge of potion-making is sufficient that I have little worry about the adverse effects of the minor mistakes that can happen on a student's first day. I purposely selected this recipe because there is very little that can go wrong. He took a sip from his tankard. Also, because I received very little sleep last night, he added in an undertone, and a hint of a smile flashed across his face for some reason.

The next person up to the desk was Joseph, and Maeve turned round to see that most of the other Slytherin students (save two, who appeared not to care one way or the other) in the room were clustered behind him. Shove off, Mudblood, he grunted, pushing his way between her and Carlota, and slamming his vial of potion onto Snape's desk so hard it was a wonder it didn't shatter. he shouted at the black-haired man. We demand to know what you've done with Professor Snape! The professor's eyes had narrowed with Joseph's imprecation to Maeve, and at this second outburst, he set his tankard of Elixir of Awakening down with a deliberation born of cold fury.

Calm yourself, Mr. Farquhar, or I'll be forced to take points from my own House, he said in a soft and dangerous voice. This seemed to anger the students even more.

Who are you, really? asked the sharp-faced girl, whom Maeve thought was named Elisabeth. Taking Polyjuice Potion or something, are you? You can't fool us!And you would know this how? You cannot have known me all your life, Snape shot back in the same low tone. Perhaps you've heard tales from previous Hogwarts students? Hoped to be put in Slytherin House because its Head irrationally favours his students above all others? Well, I'm sorry to inform you, Miss Penfell— and he rose slowly from his chair to glare down at them— that people change. Perhaps you, too, will learn manners someday. Glancing at the shocked and angry faces staring up at him, he continued, I'm afraid I'll have to deduct twenty-five points from Slytherin for thischeek. Five for each one of you. Maeve and Carlota shuffled sheepishly back to their bench to get their things, and jumped as they heard Snape slam his hands down on the table and bark, Whether you agree with my teaching methods or not, the fact remains that I AM the teacher, and you must accept that! Now turn in your samples and make sure you are not late for your next class! The other students deposited their vials on his desk, glowering, and many of them glared at Maeve and Carlota as they passed, as if everything were their fault. And, lest you forget, Snape added, noticing this, Miss Phoenix is a member of your House, and I expect you to treat her at all times with the courtesy she is due. Fail to do so, and I will know. Carlota looked mildly embarrassed; Maeve heard her muttering something about causing trouble, it wasn't necessary, really, she was used to this sort of thingStop it, Maeve directed. I don't know who it was who made you think that your feelings don't matter, but they do! If you don't learn to stick up for yourself, I'll do it for you. Gary cawed, it almost seemed, in agreement, and this more than anything seemed to lift Carlota's spirits as she packed up her things and headed off to her next class, which was unfortunately not the same as Maeve's. Maeve bid her friend goodbye before a moving staircase and hurried off to Defence Against the Dark Arts.


	5. Chapter Four

**Chapter Four : Shadows Moving  
**

Maeve walked into the classroom and received a bit of a shock: the Defence Against the Dark Arts room was set up totally unlike any of the other classrooms she had seen so far, with several long benches arranged against the sides and back of the room, cases and racks of weapons and armour along every wall, and a large open space before the teacher's desk. Professor Tsolakis looked up as she entered and smiled. Ah, Maeve. How was your first class?Not bad, I guess, she responded, digging in her bag as she walked up to the desk. She fished out the long, thin box Mr. Ollivander had sold her in Diagon Alley and placed it into Tsolakis' waiting hand; he opened it and examined the wand inside.

Cypress and unicorn hair, he murmured after a moment. A fine wand, very well-crafted. Too bad it wasn't the one for you. He lifted it from its packaging and examined it further, sighting down its length for straightness and flicking it experimentally. Oh, excellent. I'll be using this one today. Thank you, Maeve. He put the wand box away in a drawer in his desk. What class did you just have?Alchemy. Um, Potions.Oh? What do you think of Professor Snape? He didn't treat you too badly, did you?No, not at all. I thought he waswell, I don't know if I'd say nice', buterm, interesting', I suppose, would work. He's the head of Slytherin, right? But most of the Slytherin students didn't seem to like him.

Tsolakis chuckled. Well, yes, he is rather different ever since he got married. Maeve opened her mouth in surprise, about to inquire further, but the other students of Fataluma—and the first-year Gryffindors—began trickling into the room just then, and she went to grab a seat.

Professor Tsolakis said in a clear voice once everyone had settled, welcome to Defence Against the Dark Arts. I hope you enjoy this class; this is my first teaching job, he smiled modestly, and I'll be doing my best to instruct you in one of the most important subjects you will be studying here. I teach a practical approach to defending oneself against hostile magic and magic-users. You will not need your wands for most lessons. Many of the students looked at each other, bemused: How could a practical class be conducted without the casting of spells? Now, please, if you'll follow me, Tsolakis instructed, I'll show you where much of our teaching will take place. Take your things with you, as we won't be returning before the end of the period. He waited for everyone to rise from their seats and shuffle through the door, then followed them into the hall and locked the classroom door with his wand. This way, pleaseProfessor Tsolakis? one of the Gryffindors, a boy Maeve thought was named Caradoc, began. Where are weYou'll see, the teacher replied mildly, and Maeve was once again reminded that there was something inexplicably—and incomprehensibly—familiar about him.

Tsolakis led the students to a largish hall on the second floor, filled with even more armour and armaments than the classroom they had left behind. Most of it looked well-worn, and Maeve began to wonder: Was the professor's practical approach' to Defence Against the Dark Arts the teaching of martial skills? The thought concerned her slightly; she had never been particularly active in primary school, being the more bookish type, and while the idea of being able to wield a sword with the same proficiency as her favourite anime and video-game characters held a great deal of romanticist appeal, Maeve had no illusions that it was as easy as Xianghua or Deedlit made it seem.

Have a seat, Professor Tsolakis directed, gesturing at the benches along two walls, arranged so as to give an excellent view of the centre of the room. He tucked his wand through his belt and strode toward the front of the room. Maeve sat down next to Brian and Erica; the Fataluma and Gryffindor students had distributed themselves to either side of the room. Tsolakis turned round and seemed just about to begin an explanation, when suddenly a figure emerged from the wall behind him; Maeve realised instantly that it must be the school poltergeist, Peeves, that Ginny and others had mentioned. Peeves paused, apparently surprised that there were people in the room, but then seemed to decide he didn't care; Tsolakis, on the other hand, whirled around, pulling a necklace from beneath his robes, and cried something in what Maeve assumed was Greek. There was a great flash of white light; Peeves let out a shriek and fled back through the wall he had come. Professor Tsolakis let go of the chain of his necklace and slowly turned back to face the students, looking chagrined.

he said, Sorry about thatreflex, you knowWhat did you DO? asked Wesley Feldon, his eyes wide. Many other students seemed, like him, to have been highly impressed by what they had just seen, judging by the excited murmurs now being shot back and forth.

Professor Tsolakis cleared his throat. I reacted instinctively to the presence of an undead creature, he explained abashedly. Had I stopped to think, I would have noticed that it was a harmless poltergeist and in no need of turning.You can turn undead? Maeve asked; the question was out of her mouth before she could stop herself. Tsolakis seemed surprised that she knew what he was talking about, but she plowed on ahead. Will you be teaching us how to do that?

He sighed. No, I'm afraid not. The turning of undead is White magic, and as such, it requires a fair amount of religion-related study—something which, to be honest, has no place in a school dedicated to the teaching of arcane magicks.What? There are more kinds of magic besides normal magic and the Dark Arts? one of the Gryffindor students asked; everyone was now very interested. Professor Tsolakis glanced around the room, saw how intently everyone was watching, and sighed again.

Yes, indeed there are, he explained, though as you'll be studying only one type here, there is no need to delve into a detailed explanation of all five kinds. Yes— he put up his hands to quell the rising murmurs— there are five general types of magic, each drawn from a different source of power. Tucking his amulet (Maeve couldn't make out the design engraved on it, she was sitting too far away) back into his robes, he went on, The most common kind used by human witches and wizards is most commonly known as Arcane magic. It draws its power from an invisible and omnipresent force which is called, simply, the Mana-force'. It and the Life-force', which gives its power to the branch of magic sometimes referred to as Druidic, are energies native to this plane of existence, and are, therefore, the easiest to tap into for those with the talent. He glanced around. Yes, there are other planes of existence besides this one, alternate dimensions' if you will, but this class is no place to discuss them in detail. However, from and through these alternate planes flow the other three types of mystical energy: White magic, Black magic, and Planar or Shamanic magic.Ooh, Shamanic? Maeve repeated, excited. You mean like the _Ra Tilt_ in _Slayers_?

Professor Tsolakis smiled. Sounds like somebody's an anime fan. Nodding, he went on, The Shamanic, Druidic, and Arcane disciplines of magic are neutral: They care not how they are used, and their users can channel them however they please without any difference one way or another. Black and White magic, on the other hand, emanate from forces in the Multiverse beyond human comprehension. Evil and Good, respectively. Everyone's faith is a personal choice, a personal understanding, and it is nearly impossible to force a rapport with or comprehension of such powers—which is why we will _not_ be studying either White or Black magic here, he repeated firmly. White magic is more powerful than Black, but requires great devotion and perseverance. Black magic seems easy—easier, even, than Arcane magic at times—but this is only an illusion. One who is seduced by the thrill of Black magic becomes addicted, corrupted, and so is drawn even further into the trap to continue the vicious cycle. He looked around at all the students, his face solemn. Most religions, and even most atheists, frown on the use of Black magic. asked Miranda Carter, down the bench from Maeve, raising her hand shyly. When we talk about Dark magicor Dark wizards, like You-Know-Whois thatBlack magic?

Tsolakis regarded her for a moment. he answered. Even the three Unforgivable Curses, which guarantee a lifetime imprisonment in Azkaban if used on another human being, are only Arcane magic. Most other Dark spells are likewise Dark only because of their association with cruelty and malice. Then he cleared his throat. We could go into much greater detail, but as I said, that is not the aim of this class. He raised one hand. _Accio Astrapê_! A hefty sword hung on the wall behind him soared through the air in his direction, the hilt landing firmly in his palm. The aim of this class is to teach you how to defend yourselves from practitioners of Dark magic. Grasping the sword in both hands, he spread his feet and held his weapon at the ready, continuing, By Christmas, each of you should have no trouble executing moves such as the Hunting Heron— he jabbed the blade forward with surprising speed— Blackbirds Taking Flight— he swung the sword back and forth, reminding Maeve of one of Nightmare's moves in the game _Soulcalibur II_— and Autumn Leaves. He spun in a circle, the blade flashing around him in a deadly spiral and leaving trails of lightning in its wake. Many students made noises of awe and clapped, impressed. Standing at ease, he gestured behind him with one hand. You'll find practise swords in the racks along the front wall. Don't worry about hurting anybody—they've been enchanted to deal no damage, though I would not recommend he turned to fix a pair of Gryffindor boys with a reprimanding glare as they playfully beat each other with the sword-shaped sticks— abusing that property. You will have plenty of opportunity for practise. Now, if you'll line up in front of me

The next several minutes were used for stretches and warmups, all of which bored Maeve intensely, but she was glad she had done them when the period ended—swinging a sword had made her arms and shoulders sorer than she had ever remembered them being, even the previous year when she had had a bad bout of flu, and she didn't want to think of how it would be if she hadn't stretched.

That was _brill_, Erica gushed, as they headed off for a double period of Illusion, their last class before lunch break. Professor Tsolakis is so cool! Do you think he'll bring in monsters for us to practise on?

Maeve laughed nervously. I doubt it, we'll probably just stick to combat dummies Miranda Carter mused, I bet it wouldn't be too hard for a powerful wizard to bewitch creatures not to hurt us so they could help students trainWell, that'd be kind of mean, wouldn't it? Brian Strong asked her, walking by. Making a monster your friend just so kids like us could beat on it?

Maeve, always a fast walker, was the first in the classroom. Ivy (dressed in flowing robes that reminded Maeve of the traditional Jedi knight gear in _Star Wars_) was there, of course, being the teacher, but Maeve hadn't expected to see her talking to the handsome black-haired man that had accompanied Harry Potter into the Great Hall. Maeve didn't know the man's name, but what was odder was that he didn't know (or was pretending not to know) that Ivy was blatantly flirting with him. Maeve stopped, slightly embarrassed, and turned to leave; this probably wasn't something she should barge in on Ivy said, noticing her and looking surprised. Crap, is it that time already? She tossed back a sleeve and glanced at her wristwatch. Damn! It is. I have to teach soon She looked up at the dark-haired fellow, clearly torn between duty and desire. I hate toOh, I completely understand, he said agreeably, hopping down from where he had been seated roguishly on her desktop and tucking a book under his arm. You're a teacher, after allyou've got things to dowouldn't want to keep your students waiting He nodded in Maeve's direction as she moved toward a desk; the other Fataluma students, and the first-year Ravenclaws, began filtering into the room. Thanks for the book, he said to Ivy. Later, then Ivy agreed, watching him go with mild despair visible on her face. One of the Ravenclaw girls nearly crashed into him as he exited the room, and let out a shriek.

Oh, my God—_Sirius Black!_ she squealed, dropping her bookbag and turning to flee. He jumped back, startled, and one of the girl's friends burst out laughing.

Come off it, Elaine! He's innocent, it was all over the _Daily Prophet_—don't you remember? she asked, picking up the bag and handing it to her classmate.

Elaine returned to the room, looking flustered and very embarrassed. of course she murmured, pointedly avoiding everyone's gaze as she took back her books and headed for a seat.

Ivy hovered at the head of the classroom, then cleared her throat when everyone had found a seat. she said, smoothing her robes, now, then Illusion She cast about for her spear, snatched it up from where it was leaning against the desk, and made a sweeping gesture in the air. An image, looking real but for its small size, formed on her desk; Maeve recognised it (and, she surmised, she was probably the only one who did) as a Tauren from _World of Warcraft_, a race similar to minotaurs; it stood there for a moment and then burst into dance, one of the commands a character could be given in the game. Maeve tittered; it was always amusing to watch a hulking cow-headed humanoid lightheartedly bopping and shuffling back and forth. Ivy twitched her free hand, and music filled the air: The theme from the movie _Neverending Story_, seeming to come from everywhere and nowhere at once. The illusory Tauren on the desk changed his dance to match the song's rhythm. All of the students were highly intrigued at this point, and Ivy smiled, seeing the attentive faces fixed on her work. Illusion is a broad category of magic. It is mainly concerned with altering the perceptions of other creatures, which may at first seem limited in its scope, but you've just seen two very different effects. The music faded away. There are many kinds of spell effects that can be accomplished by an experienced illusionist. As you might assume, the easiest is creating a false image, like Redmark here. She gestured at the Tauren, who waved at the students; several of them chuckled. But since the school of Illusion can extend to influencing any one—or more—of the target's senses, it can have far more subtle effects: Changing someone's attitude, projecting a particular self-image into someone's mind, or even creation of half-real objects formed from the interplay of light and shadow. She raised her spear; Redmark the Tauren disappeared, and Ivy chanted, _Expecto Patronum!_ A great silver griffin, shining and semi-insubstantial, appeared on the desk where Redmark had been standing. It let out a cry from its eagle's beak and spread its wings majestically, then dissolved into silver vapour. The Patronus Charm, for example, Ivy explained to the awestruck students, is an example of an illusory half-construct. There is some debate as to whether it and similar spells belong to the school of Illusion or to Conjuration, which is concerned with the summoning or creation of physical matter. I've always classified it as Illusion, since it's only semi-real and non-permanent. She looked toward the back of the class. Yes? Question?

A shy-looking Ravenclaw boy lowered his hand. So we're going to learn to conjure Patronuses in this class? Like Harry Potter can do?

Ivy smiled. Well, not right away, I'm afraid, she responded, and some disappointed murmurs shot through the students. It's a difficult spell to cast, and requires some understanding of the basic magical theory behind it first. But yes, eventually.

The spell Ivy set them to practising for the first period involved creating tiny illusory frogs. This task was surprisingly difficult, much more so than it had sounded; many students could barely conjure a still-life image, much less cause it to hop across the desk. Maeve stared down at her insubstantial amphibian, willing it to move, and it grudgingly gave a hop, then another. After a few minutes, she was able to race it across the desk, where it crashed headlong into Erica's frog, which was also capable of sustained movement. Erica's frog opened its mouth, but no sound came out.

Oh, it doesn't croak! she cried. Ivy swept over to the desk and examined the spell.

Oh, well done, Erica, she said. And whose is this one? Maeve raised her hand. Also well-done. Yes, it's harder to combine sound and visual effects than to do either one separately, the teacher explained. Keep at it, though. Erica was nervously tapping her thumbnails together, something Maeve realised must be one of her tics, and the frequency of her ticcing increased with her frustration level; neither of them could get their frogs to make noise, try though they might.

Maeve said, it's like a silent movie

Erica laughed. No, no, _this_ is like a silent movie and her frog illusion sprouted a Charlie Chaplin-style moustache, a stovepipe hat, and began to hop around jerkily as if trapped in a film that was missing frames. Maeve burst out laughing as well, and a few other students around them noticed the scene and joined in watching and laughing, their own frogs forgotten. A light jingling noise caught Maeve's attention; Ivy's fluffy white cat, wearing a red collar with a tiny bell, had hopped up onto the end of the desk, and his eyes fixed on Erica's illusion. He crouched down, eyes wide, and dashed for the little frog; Maeve made her frog jump out of the way as the cat pounced, and heard it let out a terrified croak. Erica's frog squeaked—or maybe that was her—as the cat's paws came down upon it, which only confused the cat, since its paws went right through the image. Ivy, striding amongst the desks, noticed the cat and rushed over.

she scolded, scooping him up. Don't disrupt the students' spellwork! Dumping him on the floor, she grabbed her spear and pointed the business end at the ground, where a tiny red dot like a laser pointer appeared. The cat seemed more interested in chasing that, leaving Maeve and Erica to recover their illusions.

Did you hear mine croak? Maeve asked proudly as they headed for lunch an hour later.

I think mine made some kind of noise, Brian said, but it wasn't a croakNeither was my frog's noise, Larissa muttered. It sounded like something I wouldn't want to be heard saying in front of my parents.What, your illusions swear too? Erica giggled, and Larissa rolled her eyes but smiled. Maeve's eyes went to the Slytherin table as they entered the Great Hall: Carlota, tall for her age and with a great black bird perched on one shoulder, wasn't hard to pick out. She noticed, however, that the other students of that House didn't seem to be regarding Carlota with the same disgust they had before: A few of them were exchanging whispers among themselves, occasionally stealing a curious—or was that fearful?—glance at the black-haired girl. This sudden change seemed suspicious to Maeve, but she wouldn't have time to ask her friend about it: They weren't allotted much time for lunch, and she was starving.

The afternoon's classes were, unfortunately, nowhere near as interesting as the morning's. Directly after lunch was History of Magic, taught by a ghost teacher with a voice so droning and soporific that it would have been extremely difficult to stay awake even when not full and sleepy after a big meal. Then was Charms, most of which involved moving and levitating small objects, and Enchantment; Maeve was happy to see Miss Apollonia (or rather, as she realised she must call her, Professor Frye) again, but was disappointed that they wouldn't be practising actual magic until the next lesson. After a day of rushing from one end of the castle to the other, and stretching her brain to control magical energies she hadn't known existed even a few short months ago, Maeve was glad to collapse in the Fataluma common room after dinner that night, not even noticing at first that several older students were there as well.

Oh, hello, Erica said to a skinny girl with long dirty-blonde hair, seated in a winged armchair and deeply immersed in a magazine, which Maeve saw was titled _The Quibbler_. You read _The Quibbler_? Can I borrow that copy when you're done? said the older girl in a dreamy distracted voice, lowering the magazine. She was wearing a necklace of what looked like corks, all strung together, her wand was tucked behind one ear, and she had wide misty eyes that bulged so as to make her look permanently surprised. Oh, hello. I suppose you're a first-year.Um, yes, Erica said, sticking out her hand. Erica Stottlemeyer. Did you get re-Sorted? the other said dreamily; it was hard to tell if her attention was fully on the conversation, or still elsewhere. I'm Luna Lovegood. She looked down at Erica's proferred hand. Nothing personal, but I've just been reading about Invisible Microgurpsies, and if you have them, I wouldn't want to catch any. Of course, it's just as likely I have them, in which case I wouldn't want to infect you, either She raised the magazine back to her face and continued reading; a bronze-skinned, auburn-haired girl at a table behind her covered her mouth with one hand to stifle a giggle.

Maeve grunted, leaning over to dig in her bag, I can't believe we have homework on the first day! At least it shouldn't be too hard Riffling through the pieces of parchment, she happened to grab the Marauder's Map Harry had given her; curiosity suddenly stole through her, completely overwhelming her sense of duty. It wasn't _that_ much homework, after allUm, I'll be back, she muttered to no-one in particular, hurrying to the dormitory, which was, unsurprisingly, empty this early in the evening. Maeve flopped across her bed and lay out the Map, activated it, and watched as the lines of ink spread out across the surface of the parchment. To her surprise, however, something different happened than when Harry had demonstrated it; the seven floors depicted on the map slid together, then rose up in a tiny, three-dimensional rendering of the castle. Each dot, representing a person, was still labelled, but now it was much easier to track where people were going. Why hadn't Harry shown her this? Ah, well. She looked around, occasionally rotating the Map to examine it from a better angle, and noticed that a room in one of the towers was full of people; a legend on one transparent wall read _Gryffindor Common Room_, and as she remembered the scene in the Great Hall that morning, she realised that the students there must be having a party to celebrate Harry and Ginny's engagement. Sure enough, one of the black dots was labelled _Harry Potter_, and was right next to the one noted as _Ginny Weasley_; the writing overlapped slightly, so it was hard to read the names. Maeve could only imagine what they were doing in such close proximity. Nearby were dots with the names _Sirius Black_, _Remus Lupin_, and _Nymphadora Tonks_; they were the three adults that accompanied Harry as a sort of honour guard. The dot for Tonks was odd, though—no matter how it moved, it seemed it was always overlapping another, smaller dot, labelled in writing too small to make out easily. Maeve peered at it, trying to decipher the name; she wished she had a magnifying glass, and just as she thought this, the view on the map seemed to zoom in, bringing the area into greater detail. She noticed that each of the ink dots was actually a very tiny animated drawing of a person, and that Tonks' dot _was_ overlapping another; it seemed, in fact to be surrounding it: A miniscule figure, still almost too tiny to see, and Maeve could finally read the name attached to it: _Nina Lupin-Tonks_

Nina Lupin-Tonks? Maeve exclaimed, feeling as embarrassed as if she had just caught an accidental glimpse of someone undressing. Tonks was pregnant, Maeve realised guiltily, and probably didn't even know. It was none of her business

But if she didn't know Maeve picked up her wand, cleared the Map, and folded it up to stash it under her pillows. She had to tell Tonksif she and Lupin were concerned about having children, they needed to know

Maeve rushed out of the common room and down the hall, nearly running into Ivy as she rounded a corner. Ivy—! Um, I mean, Professor Valentine, she corrected herself, I need to get to the Gryffindor common room. Can you help me find it?Gryffindor common room? Ivy asked, her brows drawing together; Maeve realised, with another surge of guilt, that Ivy knew Sirius was there. I—I have to talk to Tonks, she explained quickly. all right, Ivy agreed, still looking slightly suspicious. It's this wayI was almost Head of Gryffindor; did you know that? Ivy asked as she and Maeve swept down a long hallway, Ivy's robes swishing elegantly. I mean, Professor McGonagall gave me the job and everything, but then Mab came and Ivy trailed off; a strange, misty look had filled her eyes. Why do I feel like I know her? she murmured to herself; Maeve didn't answer.

Yes, here, Ivy said a few minutes later, stopping in front of a painting of a very fat lady in a pink satin dress. The password's _Begonia_ I'll see you later, Maeve—I've just remembered somethingI've got to do she muttered distractedly, spinning round and hurrying off as the painting swung open to reveal an oval hole in the wall. Several of the students looked up, pausing in their merriment, with confused expressions on their faces.

Maeve called out, climbing into the room. Sorry to interrupt, but I've got to— She had the briefest flash of a vivid pink head weaving through the crowd toward her, and then the common room had disappeared abruptly; instead, she was standing in a dark forest, the stars hidden through a thick canopy of trees, and the normal sounds of a late-summer night sounding distant and faint. The barest of breezes stirred the ancient thick litter on the ground, and then there was a blinding flash of light that expanded into a round portal; through it stepped two tall, slender, elflike people, linked arm in arm, and Maeve could see others like them in the background, framed by an odd unearthly light that she thought she had seen beforeOhh, disgusting, said the woman, with long emerald hair and darkly-glittering violet eyes; Maeve knew, somehow, that she wasn't speaking in English, but could understand her nonetheless. Why is it so warm and humid here now?We left as Earth was coming out of an Ice Age, Khativa, responded the man, with hair of deepest sable and a silken mask over the left half of his face; the eye on that side, if that was what was really there, glowed with an eerie gold light. Of course it would be warmerWell, I don't like it, Khativa pouted, her six-inch-long ears drooping. Let's make it colder again—No, no, not yet! her partner urged, guiding her to one side so that another elfin man, leading a leashed beast that looked to be made of obsidian and green light (like a Dark creature from _Phantasy Star Online_, a tiny voice deep in Maeve's mind said in quiet horror) through the portal; it raised its featureless head as if sniffing the air, and opened a previously-invisible orifice to let out a weird, baying cryWhat was that?! came a voice from above Maeve's head; she opened her eyes and saw that Remus Lupin had spoken. He was standing above her, along with Tonks and Ginny and Harry and Sirius, and as Maeve's senses returned, she realised she was lying in a narrow, plain bed in the infirmary. Maeve sat bolt-upright, which she regretted immediately; there was a sharp pain in her head, as if she had hit it on something. The others around her had been looking toward the window, frozen as if in shock, and all jumped back as one when she sat up.

Hey, now, Ginny said, trying to push her back into a lying position, not so fast! How are you feeling? A harried-looking witch in a nurse's cap came bustling toward them just then, pushing among the adults, holding a goblet of something that was steaming.

Here, now, she directed, shoving the cup at Maeve, drink this. Maeve took it and gingerly sipped the hot liquid inside as the nurse examined her, waving her wand like a sensor. What happened?I don't know, Maeve admitted, drinking more of the potion; it didn't taste very good, but was oddly satisfying. I—I went to the Gryffindor common room to talk to Ms. Tonks—she— Tonks looked down at her expectantly, but Maeve stopped: She didn't want to say what she knew in front of everybody. Um, well, I was kind of hoping to talk to her in private—Yes, yes, later, the nurse urged. Then what? Do you remember anything else? Maeve answered. Well, yes—the room seemed to disappear, and I was standing in a forestthere were people there, some kind of elf-people, and they were talking about They don't like it here—it's too warm— The scene she had just witnessed seemed oddly slippery, now, like it had been a dream she could just barely remember. She shook her head. I don't know! What happened? Why am I here?It's all right, Madam Pomfrey, Harry told the nurse-witch, taking the goblet from Maeve. Can we talk to her for a moment? Madam Pomfrey cast him an exasperated look, but bustled off to another bed, in which lay someone who appeared to have a bunch of flowers growing from the tip of his nose.

You gave us a bit of a shock, Tonks explained quietly, as Ginny pulled the curtains round the bed to shield them all from view. Bursting into the Gryffindor common room like that—incidentally, I don't know how you got the password—Ivy knew it, she let me in Maeve muttered, waving a hand.

—and you called for me and just collapsed, Tonks finished, looking very worried. It—it was really weird. Your eyes just sort of unfocussed and you fellAnd _I_ knew, right away, that something was going on, Harry put in. Things like that used to happen to me You said it looked like the common room just disappeared? And there were people?Yeah. What, you think I'm hallucinating or something? she asked, beginning to feel irritated.

No, no—I think you had some kind of vision, he assuaged her. I used to have them, occasionally, when Voldemort was still alive This, and he brushed back his fringe and showed her a faint lightning bolt-shaped scar, is what happened when he tried to kill me when I was only a year old—his curse backfired, as you've probably heard by now, he lost all his power, and there was some sort of connection forged between us—I would have dreams sometimes that showed events he was participating in, I could know what he was planning All that stopped, of course, once he died, he went on, but I'm starting to wonder if maybe you have some kind of similar connection to somethingYour parents are Muggles, though, aren't they? Lupin asked Maeve. You don't have the same kind of history that Harry, here, had Still, I can't help agreeing that he might be onto something. Did anyone in yourlook familiar?I didn't recognise any of them, she said (out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw Sirius twitch and glance over his shoulder), but I did get the feeling that what was happening was very familiarAnd where did you say this happened? In a forest? Lupin pressed.

Yes, it wasit was a really dense forest, and it was nighttime, so I couldn't see much of the surroundings One of the windows in the ward was open, and through it, Maeve heard a noise that made her blood suddenly run cold. Oh, my God—what was thatI couldn't tell you, Lupin said, looking worried, and Sirius tossed aside the privacy curtains and stalked to the window, gazing out onto the grounds.

It sounded like it was coming from the Forbidden Forest, he muttered. Can't be a werewolf, thoughwrong time of the month Tonks suddenly burst out giggling, but fell silent again almost immediately. Maeve was rather glad of the sudden mood change, actually; here everyone was treating her like a terminally-ill person, and then Sirius had to go and say a thing like that. And that noisethat cry she whispered. I heard it in my visiondream—thing. There was some kind of beast—it was all black and glowy, like a Ruins monster in PSO, not that any of you know what I'm talking about—but it was held on a leash by one of the elf-people, and it

Sirius swooped back to the bedside. When you say he said quietly, do you mean tallwith long thin ears that stick out from the sides of their heads? he asked, holding out his hands to show what he meant. Maeve nodded. My God, he whispered, the Fey Lupin repeated. Sirius, what do you know about all this?

Sirius had an odd, glazed look in his eyes, then shook his head. I don't know, actually, he said. Not sure why I even knew thatweird, really weird The door to the infirmary burst open, and Ivy stood in the doorway, framed by the light in the hall. Her face was pale and streaked with sweat, and her chest was heaving as though she had run a mile.

she whispered hoarsely, as another alien howl floated through the window, followed by what sounded like the terrified scream of a full-grown man. The Fey They're back


	6. Chapter Five

**Chapter Five : Phoenices  
**

Maeve didn't get to tell Ivy what happened: Madam Pomfrey rushed in, took one look at the blue-haired teacher's wan face, and ordered her into a bed and the other adults out of the hospital wing. Ginny waved meekly, and Harry mouthed something that looked like Talk to you later, but then another scream came in through the window, and Madam Pomfrey rushed over to shut it, looking mightily harrassed. Erica came in a few moments later, bringing pajamas and personal effects for both Ivy and Maeve; she looked highly concerned, but Maeve promised her she was fine and that she would explain everything in the morning. Once the two patients had changed, Madam Pomfrey came out of her office with two goblets of purple liquid, one of which she gave to Maeve and the other to Ivy.

You'll have to stay here overnight, she said, bustling around and absentmindedly straightening beds and curtains. I don't know _what's_ going around, but I'm not letting you head back to your dormitories until I know you're all right No, not even you, Valentine, it doesn't matter that you're a teacheryou'll stay here as long as you need to Ivy closed her mouth sullenly and looked down into the cup of potion she had been given. Drink that! Madam Pomfrey ordered. Both of you. It'll help you sleep Really, I don't know what's The infirmary door banged open loudly, and Maeve jumped, nearly spilling her dose of violet liquid; Madam Pomfrey spun around and fixed the newcomer with a withering glare. she hissed, and Professor Snape stopped in his tracks. Do you know what time it is?!Of course I do, he said coolly, smoothing his robes. My apologies, Poppy, I'm simply in a bit of a hurryI wondered if you had some more— He stopped, seeing Ivy and Maeve in their beds, and walked over to Madam Pomfrey, leading her into the office, where they could converse privately. Maeve listened intently after she heard the snap of the door shutting, but couldn't make out any clear words.

What's up with him? Ivy wondered, and drained her cup. Almost immediately, she slumped back onto the pillows, fast asleep; Maeve looked down apprehensively at her dose of potion, then drank it; it was very fast-acting, and she barely had time to put the goblet on the nightstand before she, too, slipped into unconsciousness.

She stirred a few times that night, never fully waking, and watched frightful half-formed dreams parade across her mind's eyeimages of monsters and anime-style elvesa hazy scene of Mab explaining something to a tawny-haired girl with ears about half-normal length for a Fey, and then sending her off through a glowing portalRemus Lupin walking slowly into a large cage and closing the door behind him, as Tonks sadly chained and locked the cage shut with her wand That image swam into greater clarity, but sped up like a fast-forward movie: Lupin sat down disconsolately in one corner, Tonks remained seated in a worn chair just beyond the cage, and the moon rose quickly as if time-lapsed; a change came over the man in the cage: He turned into a werewolf. Tonks remained outside the cage, unsleepingly watching the creature within rage and roar, and when dawn came and Lupin returned to his normal self, she opened the cage to free him, and they disappeared There was a brief flash of a girl, looking no older than Maeve, with light brown hair and deep gold eyes; she transformed into a wolf, then into a housecat, and finally into a tawny owl, which flew away

Maeve awakened as suddenly as if someone had shouted in her ear. The ward was full of golden dawn-light. The dream that had been floating behind her sleeping eyes danced hazily, merging with the others, and she realised: They _were_ visions. Harry was rightbut what could it mean? Did she have a connection to someoneor something? For some reason, she felt a cold weight in her stomach as she wondered about being connected to the Fey man she had seen last night, the one with the half-masked facesomething about him was very wrong, very creepy

On the other side of the room, Ivy stirred and threw an arm over her face to block out the rays of sunlight. she asked of nobody in particular; she raised her head briefly, scanned the ward, and collapsed again. Damn, time to get up

Maeve leapt out of bed, ignoring Ivy's surprised stare, and threw her cloak on over her pajamas. She had to find Tonks, to tell her what she hadn't got a chance to last night It was important She knew, somehow, that Harry and his companions would be leaving soon, and she had to catch them

Maeve ran silently through the halls, sliding carelessly down bannisters, ignoring a shout from a teacher that spotted her. She reached the entry hall just as Sirius was pushing open the great doors onto the grounds, and caught up with Tonks, panting.

the pink-haired woman exclaimed, surprised. You're up bright and early! What's up?I—I had another dream—vision, Maeve said breathlessly, just now, I think—just before—I woke up Harry and Lupin turned back to look at her. It was—it was aboutIt's all right, then, Harry told her, approaching. We're in no hurry, Maeve—go ahead and catch your breath. Ginny, who was there to see them off, watched Maeve in silence, looking worried.

Maeve panted, and sat down cross-legged on the floor; she was cramped from having run without warming up.

What did you see? Tonks asked, crouching down beside her.

Maeve responded. Well—you and Remus. I—he's a She cut off, looking up at the pink-haired woman and then at her husband, who looked resigned.

I'm a werewolf, he admitted. Is that what you saw? she said, but—there's something else, too, something I saw last night—on the Marauder's Map, she explained, and Lupin gave a slight start. And something I dreamt explained it You're a Metamorphmagus, right, Tonks? she asked, and waited for the bemused nod before continuing, If you have children, they'll be shapeshifters—not werewolves—able to control their form, she explained in a rush. The shock in Lupin's face transformed into surprised relief; Tonks let out a cry and leapt up, throwing her arms around his neck and sobbing tears of joy. I thought you should know, because Maeve stopped, embarrassed; how could she put it delicately? I think the Marauder's Map was showing thatyou're pregnant.

Tonks froze, and turned to look at Maeve over her shoulder, eyes wide and tear-filled. she whispered.

The Map can show that? Harry asked, bewildered, shooting a look at Sirius; the older man shrugged. Lupin looked as though he had been hit in the face with something heavy. Show me, Harry directed, taking a step toward Maeve.

I don't have it on me, she said sheepishly, it's in my dorm

Harry pulled out his wand. _Accio Marauder's Map_, he intoned, and a moment later, the scrap of parchment sailed through the air into his waiting hand. He unfolded it on the floor, activated it, and the adults clustered around him to watch the map form.

Why don't you make it three-dimensional? Maeve asked.

Harry repeated, looking up at her. What are you talking about? It doesn't do that. Glancing at Sirius over his shoulder, he asked, Does it?Not that I know of, Sirius responded, but then, I can't say I fully understood all the magic we used when we made itfor all I know, James found some kind of— He stopped as Maeve edged toward the map, and it sprung into three-dimensional detail. How did you _do_ that?I don't know! I just assumed it was a feature, she said. Lupin was examining the now scale-model, transparent Hogwarts from various angles.

he muttered. Illusion, I thinkdoesn't seem like Arcane magic to me, thoughIt's not Dark, that's for sure, Tonks agreed, peering at the three-dimensional map. I've never sensed anything quite like itWell, it's very impressive, but it makes it a bit harder to find things, Harry said. Can you, I don't know, disable it? Maeve poked at the image, and it obligingly collapsed back into a map, taking up much more of the surface of the parchment than it had as an illusion; after all, it had to display seven floors in only two dimensions.

Illusion would explain it, Sirius was mumbling. I was never terribly good at it, I don't think James was eitherbut we used a bit of it to make this thing Harry said, pointing a finger at a room on the map. Here we are. Anyone got a magnifying glass?No, but I've good eyesight, Tonks said, lying flat on her stomach to peer down at the moving dots in the entry hall on the map. She was silent for a moment, studying the parchment. she said finally. Lupin asked gently, looking down over her shoulder.

I can just _barely_ make something out, the pink-haired witch explained. She's right! Very hard to read, thoughLast night, it looked like it said Nina Lupin-Tonks', Maeve said. Is that it?

Tonks smiled up at her. Well, it would make sense, since I didn't change my name—and Nina? She pushed herself back up to a kneeling position so that Lupin could bend down and examine the map. Nina, huh? I like it.Yes, well, her husband agreed mildly, it's not a veryunusual name, is it?Nope, and that's why I like it, she said proudly. Nice and plain and ordinary, not like Nymphadora oror AndromedaI would've _loved_ to be named Nina instead of what my mother decided to call me!Well, you'd love it _now_, Ginny pointed out, but if you had been, you'd probably wish you had a more interesting name, I bet.Oh, whatever, Tonks said, and glomped Lupin. It doesn't matter! This is _wonderful_!Not that I'd know about these things, Lupin said in a strained voice (Tonks was hugging him rather tightly), but can't one generally tell when one is pregnant?Oh, I don't know, probably, his wife said, but it's not as if I pay attention to these things She squeezed him, and he let out a squeak. Oh, Remus, this is wonderful! We're going to have a baby! And you were so worried about what would happen! She got to her feet, hauling on Lupin's arm to help him up as well, and beamed at Maeve. Is it some special thing because I'm a Metamorphmagus?Yeah, something like that, the girl said. I don't really understand it, I just know it's true, so I thought you should know

Tonks squealed. Thank you, thank you, thank you! she gushed, grabbing Maeve in a hug that squeezed most of the breath out of her. You've no _idea_ how happy this makes usWell, no, I've got some idea, Maeve rasped, struggling for air, but all the same, you're welcome

Harry turned off and folded up the Marauder's Map, waiting patiently for Tonks to release Maeve before handing the parchment back to her. These visions—or dreams, or whatever—you have I think it's obvious there's some kind of important meaning behind them, and if you ever want to talk about them, feel free to send me a letter by owl

As it happened, Maeve had no more vision-dreams that week, which was just as well, because there were plenty of normal things to worry about; she stayed up late and diligently did her homework every night, which meant that on Wednesday she didn't get to bed until nearly two in the morning (she had had Astronomy that day, which required stargazing at midnight). As a result, when she slept, she slept so deeply that she either didn't dream or couldn't remember them in the morning. By the end of the week, she was starting to feel as if the things she had witnessed a few days earlier _were_ just dreams: Nothing else seemed to have transpired, the strange sounds from the Forbidden Forest had stopped (she never was able to guess who or what could have been screaming, assuming that was what she had really heard), and nobody seemed to be talking about anything unusual, though Ginny and a few of her fellow Gryffindors that had witnessed Maeve's collapse Monday night asked after her health on occasion.

You look a bit peaky, Ginny had said, concerned, on Thursday morning. Are you feeling all right?Just t-t-tired, Maeve assured her, covering a jaw-popping yawn. I had Astronomy last night, so I didn't get back to my common room 'til late, and then I stayed up until 2 AM doing homeworkWhat? You know you don't have to work on homework every day, right?

Maeve gave the older girl a blank stare. But what? Do they make you do stuff like that for Muggle school? You don't have to worry about it here, Ginny said, waving a hand airily. Maeve turned back to her breakfast, feeling both relieved and annoyed, and studied on the weekends from then on.

Friday morning came smoothly. The enchanted ceiling in the Great Hall showed clouds scudding fitfully across the sky, just like what was visible through the mullioned windows; a thicker bank of clouds far to the west seemed to indicate a front was coming through, and Maeve—who had always had a good weather eye—knew that it would be pouring rain by the evening. She was glad, then, to make her way down to the greenhouses for Herbology in the late morning, while the sun still shone between patches of cloud. The Slytherin first-years had just finished their class as the Fataluma students headed down the lawns for theirs, and Maeve paused to chat briefly with Carlota.

How are they treating you? Maeve asked; she hadn't noticed any incidents in the Great Hall, but had no idea what went on in the Slytherin common room.

All right, I guess, Carlota said with a shrug. They mostly just ignore me now, but I think they like to whisper behind my backGary said they were—speculating about something the other day She absentmindedly reached up to scratch the large dark bird on her shoulder. I don't know what, though, and I don't really care to, so I've not asked anyone.Well, remember, Maeve told her firmly, if they're mean to you, you go right to Professor Sn—

She was cut off by a scream coming from the direction of the Forbidden Forest; she and Carlota both whirled round to see a fourth-year girl take off running toward the gamekeeper's cabin on the edge of the woods, while her classmates milled about in shock and Hagrid (the Care of Magical Creatures teacher as well as the Hogwarts groundskeeper) emerged from the Forest, looking very surprised at the commotion. Maeve heard him ask, but the question was answered almost immediately: Several other students shrieked, one of them pointing into the underbrush, and scattered as a giant four-legged creature, with a hide so dark it almost seemed to absorb the light in the air around it, bounded from the woods: A featureless face, an alien body that looked to be shaped from obsidian and eerie green light Maeve felt her knees weaken, and grabbed onto Carlota for support, just as a golden streak shot past them, leapt to the roof of the Herbology greenhouse and over to the other side in two swift jumps, and pelted down the lawn toward the beast, whose sudden appearance seemed to have rendered even the formidable-looking Hagrid frozen with shock; Maeve heard a woman's cry pierce the air, and there was a flash of gold-and-azure light that rent the monster in twain before it could react. The two halves flew apart, unbleeding, and dissolved into the ground when they landed; Maeve felt how stiff Carlota was, and as they watched a blonde-haired woman stand up from wiping her sword on the grass, Carlota squeaked, 

Maeve gave a little jump and let go. she whispered. That's never your—? The blonde woman, whom they could now see was clad in gold and crimson armour and wielding a sword as long as Maeve's arm, was speaking to the fourth-year students and a very-bewildered Hagrid. Without warning, Carlota took off running down the sloping lawns toward the group, and Maeve followed, heedless of her classmates' calls that she would be late for Herbology.

Carlota yelled, skidding to a halt in front of the woman, who was bent over a fourth-year student's scraped knee, both hands laid on the injury. She looked up, shocked.

Oh! Carlota—! There was a flash of light from her hands and she stood up, brushing back her hair. I'm sorry, love—you weren't supposed to know we're here—We'?! What—Dad's here too? Maeve had never seen Carlota so animated, but wasn't surprised: After all, not only had her mother followed her to Hogwarts, she was apparently a knight of some sort as well. what're you she asked feebly, taking in the older woman's gold-embossed armour.

Carlota's mother sighed. I'm sorry, love, she repeated, grabbing her daughter in a hug. Your father and I, we've been keeping it a secret from you When we moved here, we didn't knowwe thought this land had no magic, so we hid our powers I'm actually a Paladin, and Dad's a smith who specialises in enchanted arms and armour.

Carlota stared at her mother as if she had never seen her before. A holy knight, the blonde woman clarified, shaking her head. I'm so sorry, Carlotaif we'd known magic was practised here The black-haired girl suddenly burst out laughing.

No, no, you know what this means? The prats in my House can't insult me anymore, she declared, tossing her hair proudly; her face gleamed with a dark beauty Maeve hadn't noticed before. They're all so worried about purity of blood'—seem to think anyone who's got non-magical parents isn't worth teaching— Gary made a noise at her, and she looked at him. Of course I don't agree, but this will shut them right up, won't it?

Maeve's thoughts were fixed on what Carlota's mother had said she was: a Paladin. Are you from Azeroth? she asked, and the blonde woman looked at her in surprise. The Paladins of Azeroth, in _World of Warcraft_, were widely accepted as the worst character class in the game.

the older woman said, shaking her head. We come from Carinthia—it's an old province in central Europe. She brushed back her hair and fixed Maeve and Carlota each in turn with a look. Not to change the subject, but won't you girls be late for class? Maeve squeaked. She tossed a hasty good-bye over her shoulder to her friend and raced back up to the greenhouse, where the Herbology teacher—Professor Sprout, also the head of Hufflepuff—was kind enough not to dock points for tardiness.

So what happened this morning? Erica asked Maeve curiously as the Fataluma students sat down to dinner. Distant thunder had begun to rumble in the afternoon, accompanied by great gusts of wind, and rain was lashing the castle well before sunset. The Great Hall was periodically lit by flashes of lightning, both through the high windows and from the enchanted ceiling overhead.

Yeah, you took off like a banshee was behind you, Brian added, pulling a jug of pumpkin juice toward him and filling his glass. What was going on?

Maeve took her time answering, patiently pouring juice into her goblet and idly picking at a speck on her golden plate as she chose her words carefully. You guys saw the monster that came out of the Forbidden Forest, didn't you?I saw _something_, Erica said. I thought it was just a wolf orNah, it was weirder than that, Brian corrected her. It was reallywolves come in black, but I don't think Maeve could tell he was struggling to find words to properly describe the otherworldly eerieness of the creature. I wonder if maybe it was a thestralCouldn't be, Erica said, glancing up at the High Table and back at her plate. You can only see thestrals if you've seen someone die. I know _I_ haven't seen anyone die, but I could see itwhatever it was.I just thought it was weird, because Maeve said quietly, and the other students listened closely, I had a dreamwhere I saw it. Silence greeted her. Or something like it, anyway. Erica whispered, sounding awed. Clairvoyant dreams? Didn't Harry Potter used to have those, too?

Maeve felt a surge of modesty, bordering on embarrassment. that's what they say

Brian stared at Erica as if only just noticing her. How d'you know all this stuff about everything, anyway?I read books. You should try it sometime, she responded airily, just as the plates filled with food.

Several minutes later, Erica looked up. Who are they? she asked, and Maeve twisted round to see what Erica was referring to: Carlota's golden-haired mother, now wearing a silken tunic in place of her armour, and a tall burly man with a mane of white-streaked brown hair (Carlota's father, Maeve guessed) were making their way up the Slytherin table to where Carlota was sitting, Gary perched on her shoulder as always. The other students at that table looked up in surprise; a few of them moved over to make room for the newcomers to sit, and were immediately engaged in conversation by the adults.

The blonde woman is Carlota's mother, Maeve explained, and the big bloke must be her father. She turned back and dropped her voice. I talked to her mum—she fought off the creature that came out of the Forest—and they're both magic-users from another country, and they didn't know there were witches and wizards here! Brian asked, his brow furrowing. What country?Um, I don't remember exactlyCarabinthia, or something? She shrugged. The UK can't be the only place with magic-users, though, can it?No, of course not, Erica answered, taking another helping of chicken-and-ham pie. That's oddmaybe they practise some special kind of magicWhat, like Dark magic? Brian wondered around a mouthful of meat. Their daughter's in Slytherin, after allI don't think that's the case Maeve mused. Her mum's a Paladin, a holy knight—that doesn't sound Dark to me.A Paladin? Like one of Charlemagne's knights? Erica repeated, looking confused. Meh. At any rate, Carlota doesn't much look like her parents, does she?No, not much, Maeve agreed; it was true: If she hadn't known, she would never have guessed that the fair woman and broad-shouldered man across the Great Hall were her friend's parents. Maeve had always been told she didn't much resemble her own parents, but at least it was apparent she had inherited her mother's brown hair and her father's blue eyes, even if those eyes were a lighter shade than Maeve's sapphire-coloured ones. Still, sometimes genetics were odd that way.

Fataluma now had prefects—a Goth-looking girl named Antigone Miller and a tall skinny fellow called Diocletian Shaw—and Maeve and her classmates followed them instead of Ivy to the dormitory, which was convenient, as Ivy was nowhere to be seen.

Where d'you suppose Ivy is? Maeve asked, glancing around the Hall; there was no sign of the vivid blue head.

Dunno. Why, you need to talk to her? Brian asked.

it's just Maeve stopped, remembering Monday night. Had Ivy seen the same vision she had? Nothing, I was just wondering

Maeve was suddenly seized with a desire to go to the Forbidden Forest, though she couldn't explain why. The idea filled her with both horror and intrigue—that creature had come out of the woods!—but why was it there in the first place?—and she knew she _had_ to goit was as if something were silently calling her

But it was forbidden, as the name implied. How would she get out of the castle and down to the grounds? The Marauder's Map showed secret passages, she knew, but they would only get her so far unless she were invisible No sooner had she thought this than something clicked together in her brain. It was so obvious! All she had to do was bend light around herafter all, wasn't it only a second-level spell in _Neverwinter Nights_? Maeve said nothing as she trooped to the dormitories with her classmates, then hurried to her trunk and pulled out the Marauder's Map. Nobody else was in the first-year dormitory: lucky her. She opened the stained-glass window as far as it would go, hopped out into the still-warm grass, and pushed the window shut behind her, the Marauder's Map in one hand and her wand in the other. Glancing around, she saw through the faint sheet of rain that there was no-one else on the grounds; the windows of Hagrid's hut were lit and smoke was rising from its chimney, and the only sounds were raindrops hitting the ground an occasional owl hooting in the darkness. Now, how did the spell go? She couldn't think of any words, so she simply willed herself invisible; a faint stirring of the air around her seemed to say she had been successful. At once thrilled and apprehensive, she took off down the lawn toward the night-black Forest, her ears keen to pick up any sound, and as she approached the edge of the trees, she thought she heard something. She paused, listening closer: There _was_ something, seeming to come from deep within the Forbidden Forest: An unearthly melody, accompanied by a throbbing rhythm that made her pulse race in time with the musicit was very faint, but all the same, Maeve felt sure it was familiar Heedless of the thick underbrush, she forged on into the Forest, seeking the source of the song. She lost track of how long she trudged through the dark wood—there was almost no light, but her feet seemed to know where they were going, and the canopy was so thick that only a light drizzle reached her—and the elusive music grew ever-closer.

Without warning, she burst through a bush into a clearing, and the song swelled to full volume: There was a huge bonfire, with inhumanely-lithe shapes dancing and leaping round it; all of them had long, thin ears and were wearing nearly nothing. Seated in a circle further back from the blaze were musicians of the same race as the dancers, attired in black and green silk; some were playing oddly-shaped flutes, others drums, still others singing in a language that made Maeve's heart ache. There was a long table set near the fire, covered with platters of food Maeve had never seen before, and the tall slender figures were milling around it, snacking and idly gossiping to one another. Nobody seemed to have noticed hershe crept forward

She brushed against a large mushroom, and suddenly someone was standing before her: He had leapt down from the trees to block her path. Maeve stopped, shocked, and looked up into his face: Half-masked, his left eye glowing gold he hissed at her, drawing a rapier-like sword with incredible speed. _Ayanlé fuansam tya?!_ she asked feebly. He snarled at her again, but in a different language: it sounded vaguely like Middle English. One of the elfin people standing at the table glanced in their direction, and Maeve heard words in her mind, words so sharp they hurt.

Kill the human, Brodhevaal.

he cried, and several of the others looked over. Their faces lit up in cruel glee as they watched the sword slice through the air towards Maeve's heart

Someone grabbed Maeve from behind and shoved her aside. screamed Ivy's voice, and Maeve felt a lurch, as if she were on an elevator that had suddenly dropped. The air around her changed: It was cooler, less close, and the ground beneath her feet was grassy, not loamy. She was released, and she fell to her knees, dizzy.

What the _hell_ were you thinking? snapped Ivy from somewhere above her head; Maeve looked up, and saw her Head of House framed against an unfamiliar night sky: A red star glittered as if in admonishment near a trio of crescent moons, and strange wolf-like howls sounded from across the rolling plain on which they were now standing.

Where—where are we? was the first thing out of Maeve's mouth.

Ivy responded sharply, pulling the student to her feet, and it's a damn lucky thing for you I was there in the forest! What the hell were you thinking, walking into a Fey-ring of the Unseelie Court?!A—a what? Maeve shook her head. I—I don't understand, I was invisible—how—?You _were_ invisible, until the music made you lose concentration, Ivy huffed. Seriously, Maeve, you could have been killed! It's called the Forbidden Forest for a reason! What the hell were you doing there?

Maeve sighed. you remember Monday night? How you and I both wound up in the hospital wing? Ivy said nothing, but her expression softened somewhat. I had a—a vision. I don't know if you did, too, but I'm guessing so.

Ivy nodded solemnly. Brodhevaal and Khativa. He's a knight-errant of the Unseelie Court, and she's his consort, a Streamshaper with a taste for torture. The Unseelie Fey don't much like humans.

Maeve was stunned. Don't ask how I know, Ivy chided her, shaking her head, at least, not right now. We need to get back to Hogwarts. Hold my arm— Maeve did so, and there was another lurching feeling; they were standing in the entry hall of the castle. Let's get you to your dorm, shall we? The girl followed her teacher in silence.

By the way, Ivy asked, pausing in front of the painting of the nymph that marked the Fataluma door, how'd you manage to pull off an invisibility spell? We haven't done anything like that in class.

Maeve shrugged. I dunno. I justwilled it to happen, and it worked.

Ivy pursed her lips. I see. For now, I'd recommend staying away from magic like that.Like what? Surely you don't mean Illusion?Of course not. No, Maeve, I mean spell effects that you don't need a wand or a chant to cast. Taking in the student's frustrated pout, she elucidated, There will be a time for such knowledge later. For now, just trust me, okay? Maeve muttered.

Ivy chuckled. Honestly, sometimes you're just like Mel-Rica

Maeve's heart skipped; she looked up: That name was familiar. Mel-Rica? Who is Mel-Rica?

Ivy looked surprised; apparently she hadn't realised she had spoken aloud. Huh? Um, actually, I couldn't tell you. I don't know, myself. Do you? Maeve shook her head. It's weird, thoughI'm sure I've heard the name somewhereWell, um Maeve began, I suppose I'll go to bed, thengood night?

Ivy regarded her skeptically. I know _I_ won't be able to fall asleep anytime soon, and I doubt you will either. Come on, there's something I want to show you— She led the way through the concealed door, took in the various students arrayed around the common room (it was nearly full, as very few people wanted to go to bed early on a Friday night), and asked, who wants to play Dungeons & Dragons?

Maeve didn't actually go to bed until after midnight that night, which was fine—she really hadn't been tired after narrowly escaping a very nasty fate, and listening to Ivy explain the rules of the role-playing game on which _Neverwinter Nights_ was based did wonders to keep her from freaking out. It really had been stupid of her to wander into the Forbidden Forest, she told herself, trying to examine it from Ivy's perspective. What had she expected to find, anyway?

_Somethingrather like that_, she thought. It still chilled her blood to think that the things she had seen in dreams and now for real—the Fey, so similar in appearance to animé elves but so different in temperament, and especially that creepy beast that had accompanied them through the portal—were, at this very moment, less than a kilometre away from the walls of Hogwarts

Maeve forced herself not to think about it. She was in a castle protected by dozens of adult mages and hundreds of underage ones: What harm could possibly befall her? With that last thought, her body succumbed to its fatigue and slipped into a deep sleep.

It wasn't even dawn when she awoke again, unsure why. She listened, wondering if perhaps some sudden noise had roused her, but the only sound was the soft even breathing of her fellow students. Her eyes had barely closed again when an image formed behind them

A short, squat woman pulled out her wand and gave the doorknob to her office a dainty tap to unlock it; the door swung silently open. There were many, the woman thought, who would undoubtedly detest having to come in to work early on a Saturday morning, but she was the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic—an important job, and one which she was proud to hold. The woman moved across the room to her desk, initially ignorant of the fact that a single gold light was fixed on her from a shadowy corner. When she noticed this, she jumped visibly.

she asked; her voice was surprisingly light and girlish for such a(ahem) robustwoman. The gold light approached, stepping out of the shadows; it was set in a face that was half-covered by a silken mask. He wore a hood pulled up over his hair, though a few sable locks trailed down around his neck.

Who—who are you?! How dare you come into my office—! she sputtered, fumbling for her wand and holding it before her. I don't know what your business is here, but I've half a mind to call Security right now and—Be silent, he said, in a soft voice that was not at all unpleasant to the ear: like silk slipping over hidden steel. The woman stopped mid-sentence, shocked; he glanced down at her wand, idly lifted one hand, and it slid from her fingers toward him.

he remarked after a moment. You still cannot master the Art without using pieces of woodNow, look here, sir, she said, her voice becoming slightly lower and huskier, this is bordering on a serious breach of Wizarding law. Breaking and entering the office of a high-level Ministry of Magic employee—

He stepped further from the shadows, keeping a steely gaze fixed on her face. He was nearly two feet taller than she.

—taking a wand without permission—

The man pulled back his hood and tossed back his hair so that his long elflike ears were clearly visible. And what do you intend to do about it, human?

The woman staggered back, gaping; her mouth opened and closed in silence a few times, making her look like a toad gasping for air, and she finally rasped, —N—Non-humans are—are not permitted to carry wands—this is a serious offence, I'll have you know, and— He merely smirked, dropping his gaze to her wand, which he was now rolling between his long-fingered hands. —and, being of the high rank in the Ministry that I am, I can declare that your attempts at intimidation are tantamount to assault, and seeing as you are possessed of near-human intelligence, you will be held res—

She never finished her last sentence: There was a silvery blur, and suddenly she found herself against the wall, hot wet pain spreading through her body. The woman glanced down and saw a sword thrust through her midsection, pinning her to the wall of her office. A weak moan escaped her.

Now listen here, the Fey man hissed, coming close to her (all trace of cruel amusement was gone from his countenance, replaced by a terrible icy rage), my kind were practising magic long before your ancestors fell from the trees and stopped eating one another's lice long enough to learn to bang stones together! Since we've been gone from this world, I myself have seen things that would cause your puny brain to swell up inside that rock you call a skull until humours poured from those tiny, useless ears of yours! In our absence, you It was surprising how much disgust he was able to put into that word— have spread over the land like blight through a forest—building, breeding, thinking you own _everything_the corruption you've wreaked is beyond anything we could have guessed But no more—Earth's true masters are returning, and we will take back our world, by force if necessary!? N-no she squeezed out, a rivulet of blood spilling from her mouth, and glanced down again. you've killed

He stood back, regarding her with the utmost hatred and revulsion. Not yet, I haven't, he said coldly. No, you will not die yet The pain you feel now is blood leaking into your intestines and lungs. It is the same pain you will continue to feel as you grow colder, and your vision darker, and finally you will bleed to death in two hours or so. A very cruel smile quirked at his mouth. Perhaps three, if I aimed properly. I never had Khativa's touch.

The woman moaned and squirmed, grabbing at the sword's hilt. The Fey chuckled coldly. Oh, try to pull it out if you'd like. I doubt you are strong enough. You humans always had such fragile physiques, as I remember Even if you do manage to free yourself, it will be far too late: I know you no longer study the branches of magic that would let you heal effectively. Really, I cannot understand how humans have seemingly achieved so much despite such glaring stupidity. Relying on Arcane magic for healing He scoffed. At least your last moments will be filled with the knowledge of what happens to any who insult the noble Unseelie Fey.? Who are she whispered.

Me? Hmph. You will be dead before the noon hour, but if you perchance speak to anyone before expiring, be sure and tell them that such a fate awaits all who anger Brodhevaal. He turned on the spot and vanished; only a faint wisp of shadow was left behind. The woman groaned and tried to slide down the wall, but couldn't; her legs were leaden, but moving caused the sword to cut further into her flesh. If only she had the energy to call out for someonebut was there even anyone else here at this hour?

There was a knock on the office door. Miss Umbridge? asked a voice outside, and continued, Sorry, I thought I heard you talking to someone, and I wondered if it was— The door was pushed open wide enough to admit a head with flaming-red hair and horn-rimmed glasses, and its owner took in the scene and began to scream

The sound of the screaming awoke Maeve; it took a moment before she realised it was coming from her mouth as well as reverberating in her mind. The other girls in the dormitory awoke with cries of varying volume, whipping back their bed hangings in annoyance to see what was going on. Maeve rolled out of bed onto the floor, heedless of the drop, and curled up into a ftal position with her arms over her head, trying her hardest not to be sick That dream _couldn't_ have happened, it just couldn'tWhat the hell's up with you? Larissa demanded, swinging her feet onto the floor. She stepped closer, then asked in a completely different tone, Whoa, Maeve, you're really pale—something wrong?

Maeve tried to say something, but her throat was so dry no words could form. She noticed she was trembling violently, but it wouldn't stop: The horror from her dream was still too fresh in her mind's eye. _Oh, please, God, let that have been only a nightmare!_ she thought desperately, just as the door banged open.

What's going on? demanded Ivy's voice, and soft footsteps approached. Maeve made herself glance up, and saw the teacher push her way through the other students, who were clustered around Maeve in concern. she asked quietly, dropping to her knees. You didn't—you didn't have anothervision, did you? Unable to speak, she nodded. Ivy flinched as if struck round the face. Oh, Azar, no she whimpered, gently pulling Maeve up into her arms; she was shaking almost as much as the girl. You didn't need to—you shouldn't have—seensuch a

Maeve found her voice. But— You saw it too? Then it's—it wasn't just a dream?! She inhaled sharply, and struggled away from the blue-haired woman. We—we have to go, we have to save her— Ivy said sadly. No, Maeve, don't—We—we have to—he—that man— Tears were filling her eyes now; she hadn't known the toad-looking woman, but all the same, felt a combination of horror and anguish at the thought of her bleeding to death in an office somewhere.

Ivy said, more firmly, as she shook her head, Maeve, there's nothing you or I can do to save her. I know that's got to be hard for you to accept—What—what are you guys talking about? Erica asked, sounding frightened.

No! I've got—there must be— Maeve started, choking back sobs. She flung herself back onto her bed, knowing even as she had spoken that Ivy was right; it was already far too late. I—I don'tI just wish

Ivy rose from the floor and seated herself on the edge of Maeve's bed. You shouldn't have seen that, she repeated. I don't understand why you're having such visionsthere's got to be a reasonbut things like that She sighed, and a tear ran down her cheek; she wiped at it with the back of her hand. There are some things eleven-year-olds shouldn't witness I don't know why you and I seem to be having the same visions, so I can't keep you from getting them. I can, however, make the memory of this oneso that it doesn't hurt so much. She gently placed a hand on Maeve's shoulder. Would you like me to do that?

Maeve nodded after a moment of hesitation. But I can't help wondering she murmured (dropping her voice so the other students could not hear) as Ivy placed her cool-skinned hands on the girl's temples, if it's my faultif maybe I made him angry last night, and he took it out on her

Ivy looked very sombre for a moment, then shook her head. Don't trouble yourself with such thoughts. Maeve felt a surge of magic, as clear and crisp as a mint-flavoured mountain stream, and then the anguish in her heart subsided, for its source was stemmed. What _had_ she been so upset about?

Now, then, Ivy said gently, glancing at the other students in the dorm, it's barely six A.M.—there's no need for you to all be up so early, so why don't I let you go back to bed? If you're too wound-up to fall asleep again, I can cast a _Sleep_ spell on anyone who wants it.Is Maeve going to be okay? Erica asked nervously.

Yes, of course. She'll be fine. There's no need to talk about her like she's lying here in a coma or something, Ivy chided gently, helping Maeve get comfortable again. She muttered a word—it sounded like —Maeve had no idea what language it was, but somehow it sounded familiar—but then Ivy touched her forehead lightly with one finger, and before she could think further, Maeve fell into a deep sleep that lasted until almost noon.


	7. Chapter Six

**Chapter Six : Streams  
**

When Maeve finally rose in earnest, Ivy was nowhere to be found. She asked the other students, wandered the castle looking for teachers, but found next to nothing: Argus Filch, the caretaker (and, by all accounts, always on the lookout for some real or imagined slight by any student, any excuse to hand down a punishment), caught her slinking along a first-floor hall.

You! What d'you think you're doing, not up in your dormitory doing homework or out on the grounds like a normal child? he snapped, his pouchy face twitching.

I—I'm sorry, she said simply; politeness, she knew, was generally the best way to defuse misunderstandings. I'm—I'm looking for the staffroom, would—would youhelp me find it? Please?

He glared at her, and Maeve knew what sort of battle was going on in his brain: Embitterment born of years of fighting student-wrought mischief, the kind of which this little girl was no doubt planning to wreak in the staffroom for her poor hard-working teachers to endure, contrasted with the careful, delicate politeness that nobody, _nobody_ thought to show him (Maeve had heard plenty of tales of Filch, and the other faculty members of Hogwarts, but tried not to judge anyone until she had met them. They were only doing their jobs, weren't they?) His mouth twitched. You—you're not planning to set off Dungbombs or some such, then, ar? Maeve said earnestly, shaking her head. I—I just want to talk to Iv— Professor Valentine. the caretaker growled, turning away. He jerked his head, though, in a manner Maeve took to mean as to follow him. Odd ickle bird, that one. Can't be normal, hair like thatand she so younghardly fit to teach, isn't she, only a handful o' years older than some of the bloody students He was muttering, very low, apparently unaware that Maeve could hear him; she had always had exceptional senses. She affected ignorance, but followed shyly, afraid he might at any moment turn and order her back to the Fataluma conservatory. He stopped abruptly, pointing at a door. Remember, girl, if I hear so much as _whisper_ you've done something wrong, I'll have your hide for it. He stomped away, leaving Maeve to knock timidly on the doorframe just as the door burst open and Professor Sprout exited.

they cried in unison. Silly girl, you startled me! the teacher chided. What are you doing here?Is—is Professor Valentine in there? Maeve stammered.

No, she's not here, Professor Sprout explained, shaking her head. Why, what do you need?Erm, I just wanted to—to talk to her. Where is she? She's not in the common room, is she out on the grounds somewhere or—or something

Professor Sprout shook her head again, regarding Maeve with concern. No. She's not here at all. She said at the start of term that sometimes she'd leave Hogwarts forpersonal matters, but unlike Severus, she never mentioned where she was going.What? Is Professor Snape gone too? Maeve asked before she could stop herself. Her thoughts immediately rushed to Carlota. If the Head of Slytherin wasn't here to protect her friend She quickly said as much, heading off the confused expression forming on Professor Sprout's face.

Ah, that. No worries, Miss—ah—Kerrigan? That's all been taken care of. Now, was there anything else you needed? She smiled, and went on, I'm surprised you're inside on a day like this—I was just about to head out to one of the gardens. If you've no homework to do, would you mind giving me a hand?No—not at all! I love nature, Maeve gushed, following the professor down the hall. I've always loved growing flowers, but my parents never had the time for gardening. Miss Apollonia and the Headmistress left the staffroom and headed in the other direction, conversing; Maeve exchanged a wave with the younger woman before disappearing around a corner.

Your parents are Muggles, aren't they? Professor Sprout asked.

Um? Oh, yes. Why?You seem to get on well with all of your teachers, myself included, the professor explained, and from what I've seen in my classes and heard from the other teachers, you've an incredible talent for magic. You and Carlota Phoenix both. Just like Hermione Granger—she graduated just last year. She was also Muggle-born.Really makes you wonder how so many people can stick to the idea that only pure-blood' wizards are any good, doesn't it? Maeve solicited.

Oh, absolutely. People who think that, I've always felt, are no less ignorant than people who thought the world was flat, despite all evidence to the contrary—now, don't you go repeating that to anyone, mind you, the teacher said.

Maeve thought. Are there many so-called pure-blood' families?No, not really, Professor Sprout explained. They're all closely related, of course, and there's a trace of Muggle blood in all of them, I'm sure. If wizards and witches hadn't married outside their own families, there wouldn't be any of us left, since we'd be so inbred we'd allI won't go into that.But even the families who claim their ancestry is purest Maeve began, suddenly remembering her dream of Queen Mab and the four Founders, they couldn't have all been magic-users back to the beginning of time, could they? _Someone_ must have been the first to practise magic.

Professor Sprout blinked. Why, yes, she said. I never thought of it that way. In that case, then, we're _all_ descended from Muggles, aren't we? Just some more recently than others, and she winked down at the student walking beside her, not that that's a bad thing.

The garden they went to was slightly past its prime; the shortening days of early autumn had taken their toll on many of the plants. There were some vegetables to be picked, though, and weeds to be removed; Maeve went at it with gusto, glad she hadn't put on her robes when she got dressed: they would have been in the way, and she didn't know how she would remove dirt and grass stains like the ones that adorned her jeans when she finished. Professor Sprout had conjured baskets for the produce, and she enchanted them to float above the ground so that there was no need to carry them, which was just as well; Maeve was sore, having never done so much of this type of work before. But she was happy.

I liked that, she said, using the back of one hand to wipe sweat off her face (which must have been at least as pink and dirt-smudged as the teacher's, she thought briefly). Can I help you again next time?If you want, Professor Sprout said, laughing. Come on, it's nearly time for tea. They began to head up to Hogwarts Castle, but stopped: Professor Tilverton, the deputy headmistress, was rushing toward them and looking frantic. Maeve felt her heart skip; something was nagging at the back of her mind, something she couldn't quite remember: why was she so worried all of a sudden?

the teacher called, you guys—we can't find—Calm down, Sophenia, Professor Sprout said calmly, conjuring a goblet of water: You look a wreck! Have a drink. What's going on?The—the Sword—! Tilverton gasped, after downing the proffered beverage. The Sword of Gryffindor—it's gone! Professor Sprout cried, her concentration faltering for a split-second; Maeve repeated the spell she had heard the teacher use and caught the floating baskets in midair. How long has it been missing?!Over an hour, the sandy-haired woman panted. I—we—we've looked all over the castle for it, but we didn't—we didn't think Maeve turned away: She thought she heard someone singing.

Hang on, she wondered, straining her ears, what's that? It sounded like some animé theme song, though it was too far-off for her to make out words or the singer.

The two professors stared in the direction she was looking, and Maeve saw that Ivy was striding calmly up the lawn, a sword leaning casually on one shoulder, and obviously singing. It looked, though it was hard to tell for certain, like she was wearing the white ear-phones of an iPod. Her clothing was torn

Maeve found herself rushing down the lawns. Drawing closer, she could tell that Ivy was wearing armour, though not much: Animé-style minimalist, just shoulder-guards, greaves, a skimpy breastplate, and bracers. Are you hurt? What happened? she cried, then looked at the sword, which was long and silver, its hilt encrusted with rubies. Dark, crusty blood filled the engraved letters along the ricasso, clearly spelling out GODRIC GRYFFINDOR. Hey, wait a minute—!

Ivy switched off her iPod and pulled the buds from her ears. Professors Sprout and Tilverton were hurrying down the slope after Maeve, looking at once horrified and livid. Oh, crap! Was there a meeting I was supposed to attend?No, I think they're upset about your sword, Maeve commented darkly. Professor Tilverton just came running out of the castle to say something was gone—IVY VALENTINE! roared the woman in question, coming level with the other teacher and pointing a shaking finger at the weapon balanced on her shoulder. Explain yourself!!Huh? What, the Sword? A stubborn look, somehow vaguely familiar, crossed her face. What're you on about? It's mine! Er, that is— Ivy shook herself. D—Dumbledore said I could borrow it. I didn't think anybody would need it while I was gone.Yours? What are you talking about? Professor Sprout demanded, looking not so much angry as disappointed and annoyed. Ivy raised the blade and spun it in her fingers with perfect control, then buried the sword's tip in the ground and leaned on the pommel.

Do you believe in reincarnation, Pomona? she asked quietly.

No, but that's hardly the issue in question here!Well, if that's the case, I'm not going to try and explain. Ivy took a deep breath, picked up Gryffindor's sword, and handed it to Professor Tilverton. Bitch at Dumbledore if you must. He said it would be okay. I'm going to go take a shower. Maeve, concerned at her teacher's uncharacteristic snippiness, returned control of the floating vegetable-baskets to Professor Sprout and hurried after Ivy.

Are you okay? Maeve asked quietly, half-jogging to keep up with the adult's brisk pace. Your—your clothes are all rippedwhere were you? Did you get hurt?In order, Ivy told her, Yes, Miracos, and no. She looked down at the girl beside her and slowed down a little. Is something wrong?No, I'm just worried about you! Maeve said, with the oddest sense of _déjà vu_. I couldn't find you for hours, and then you turn up with a missing sword and wearing shredded clothes and animé-style armour? What d'you expect people to think?Nobody was supposed to know I was gone, Mel, Ivy muttered sullenly, and I'm nine years older than you—there's no need for you to fuss over me like a parent.If something's wrong, you can— Maeve stopped as abruptly as if she had run into a brick wall. Hang on, what did you call me? Ivy stopped and turned to face her. What do you mean? I called you— She gasped, dismayed. Eep! I called you Mel, didn't I?

Maeve nodded. I wouldn't care, except for the fact that I think it means something. Iv—er, Professor, _what_ is going on? I'm confused, but at the same time, I've this dirty great feeling of _déjà vu_. Please tell me you understand better than I do!

Ivy folded her arms and looked down, not unkindly, at the student. First, I have to ask you what I asked Professor Sprout. Do you believe in reincarnation?No, not really, I'm a Christian, Maeve explained, feeling she was being given a runaround. What does that have to do with anything?It has to do with whether or not you'll believe me if I tell you I'm the reincarnation of somebody, Ivy said simply, her voice cool and hard as iron.

Maeve pondered. Ivy watched a gaggle of students wander by in the direction of the Great Hall, heading for afternoon tea. I don't want you to be angry with me, she said finally. I'll listen to anything you want to tell me.

Ivy regarded her silently. So astute, she murmured. So like Mel-Rica Abruptly, she shook herself. rather not talk about it here. Would you come to my office? Unless you want to go have tea. Either way. I'm in no hurry.No, I'mI'm okay, Maeve said. Ivy gave her a look—what was it? sad? grateful? both?—and turned and led her to the Fataluma common room, through a door set with stained-glass, and up a spiralling staircase that looked to be made of crystal. Another stained-glass door opened onto a large, semicircular room full of ceiling-height varicoloured windows, stained-glass skylights, and a plethora of potted plants. Filmy veils, bamboo screens, and bead-curtains divided parts of the room from others; Maeve made out a large desk and a few overflowing bookshelves in one partition, a great plush bed in another, and what she could only guess was some kind of prayer mat in a distant corner. Ivy went to the desk and opened the doors of a cabinet Maeve hadn't noticed; she reached in and reverently pulled out a long spear, glimmering with a weird inner shine like a magic item in Morrowind. Maeve crept closer and examined it; the head of the spear, white like silver instead of steel, was so highly-polished she could see her reflection in it. When she looked deeper, she thought she could see faint images, like dreams, playing across its surface: stormclouds crackling with lightning, an eight-legged horse running through the air, twisted and hideous beasts of semi-human aspect she breathed, and then noticed that the cabinet held yet more weapons, a veritable armory: Not even Professor Tsolakis owned so many! beautiful. What is it? And where did you get so many weapons?

Ivy's eyes darkened briefly with sadness. This is the Lance of Fortuna, she explained in a soft voice. It was wielded by Marsilia Fortunata, a warrior-mage who lived over a thousand years ago. Her valour and skill were such that she attracted the attention and favour of the Valkyries, who had this weapon forged for her.The—the Valkyries? Like in Norse myth? Maeve was both shocked and intrigued. They really exist?

Ivy nodded. I don't know how strictly Christian you were raised, and I don't want to offend you. I was raised to believe that there is but a single divine force—all-powerful, omnipresent, that manifests in a form dictated by the subconscious of whatever people It chooses to reveal Itself to. Some people, for example, call it Allah. Others call it Vishnu, or Brahma, or Shiva. All good deities, from Odin to Zeus, are aspects of the one true divine-force.

Maeve only stared at her, dissecting this bit of information in her mind. you believe that there's only one god, but that it's also many gods? That all gods arethe same?Something like that. I don't really care if you believe it or not, but it's the view of the universe I was raised to hold. That, and the idea that reincarnation is universal—oh, how do I explain that one? Hmm Did you learn about the water cycle in elementary school?Yeah, of course, Maeve responded. Earth always has the same amount of water, it just changes form. What's that have to do with reincarnation? Souls are like water? Ivy said, a smile flashing across her pale face. Souls keep getting reused. You die, and your soul goes on to someone just born, and you have no memory of your past life. Eventually—it takes some longer than others—a soul becomes pure enough—enlightened', if you will—to enter Paradise, which is probably more like the Buddhist Nirvana than the Christian view of Heaven. She looked down demurely. Not that I'd know. If I had ever been there, I wouldn't be here.

Maeve ran her fingers along the shaft of a giant axe that looked like something out of one of the Soulcalibur games. You know, that sounds she said finally. I'm not sure why. ButI think there's truth there.

Ivy took a deep, calm breath. Marsilia Fortunata, she said, after a moment's pause, married Godric Gryffindor after the Fey Courts left Earth, which was not long after Hogwarts was founded. Godric and Queen Mab had beenlovers, and Gryffindor knew that nothing would ever really come of his relationship with the Queen of the Fairies, but he didn't have the motivation to do anything about it until Mab was gone.

Maeve nodded; her _déjà vu_ was rushing back. This all sounds terribly familiar, though I can't say why. She leaned on the edge of the desk and looked up at her teacher. Is this in some hidden history book? I read all of _Hogwarts, A History_ and a bunch of other books, but they never said much about the founders. Ivy shook her head, and replaced the Lance of Fortuna in the cabinet. I know this from residual memory.? What— Oh, wait—I bet I know! It's a memory from your past life you're not supposed to have, right?Something like that. Yes, Maeve. When Queen Mab came into the Great Hall on the first night of term, I remembered thingsfrom the incarnation I was in the last time she was on Earth.

Maeve felt her eyes widen. Whoa, you—you wereMarsilia Fortunata?No. I was Godric Gryffindor.

Maeve had almost expected such an answer, but it still hit her hard. you werea bloke in a previous life? That can happen?

Ivy gave her a look. Of course it can happen. Souls don't always incarnate in the same gender any more than a given molecule of water is always found in the same state. Besides, when I speak of reincarnation, I'm not just referring to humanoids—a soul can be incarnated in something without a sex, like a tree or something, in which case it doesn't matter, does it? She sighed and dropped into the elegant chair in front of the desk. Have you ever read _ElfQuest_?Oh, yes! I love it!Then you know about Recognition, right? When two elves realise they're soulmates? Maeve nodded. Something like that happens in real life, too. Each person is actually born with half a soul, not a whole soul, like you might expect. The other half of the soul you're born with is possessed by the person who's destined to be your soulmate. Maeve accepted this bit of information; the faintest flash of Carlota crossed her mind, followed by a tinge of embarrassment. Where had _that_ come from? When you meet the person who has the other half of your soul, you know. Maybe not instantly—you may meet them early on in your life and not, shall we say, Recognise' them until you're much older. Her face darkened. Or you might know even without looking them in the eyes, and they _still_ refuse to admit what you both know. She stood up suddenly. Do you mind if we go over to the forge? Ineed something to do with my hands. She brushed aside one of the veils, and Maeve saw that next to what she had thought was a prayer mat (some kind of cushion, surrounded by a ring of six electric-blue candles) was a massive anvil and what she could only assume was an oven for melting metal, both seeming completely out-of-place in her elfin teacher's study.

go ahead she said feebly; something told her Ivy had asked only out of politeness, and would have moved over there anyway. Ivy coiled up her long, curly ponytail with one hand and thrust a pair of green rods through her hair to hold it in place; they contrasted marvellously with the brilliant blue, but Maeve was too distracted to care much. Her teacher then turned to the oven and held out both hands before her.

she intoned, in a voice that was full of power, and Maeve felt such a force of magic—surely that was what it was, though she had never sensed the like—that she wondered how it could have been evoked with Ivy's simple utterance. There was a soft popping sound, and a silvery mass of metal appeared inside the forge. Ivy took a step back, made a gesture as if throwing something, and called out, Instantly, brilliant yellow flames appeared in the oven, and Maeve had to turn away and blink back the image burned in her eyes. Ivy summoned a pair of poufs from across the room, and they sat silently while the fire danced brightly around the lump of metal. Professor Valentine kept a close eye on it—though how she was able to discern anything about it through the blinding flames, Maeve didn't know—and after a few moments, she reached for a long pair of tongs, pulled the chunk from the forge, and set it on the anvil. She moved one hand in an unfamiliar gesture, and Maeve realised when Ivy began to pound at the dimly-glowing metal with a huge hammer, with a strength that belied her delicate frame, that some kind of forcefield had been erected, for the sparks that flew in her direction vanished in midair.

Ivy pounded the slightly-molten hunk of metal as if it had done her a personal wrong, and Maeve was glad she was not the subject of her teacher's anger. A small piece, cooler than the main mass, chipped away and landed on the floor; Ivy muttered something that sounded like a curse, but the carpet beneath the fallen bit did not smoulder. _Of course_, Maeve thought, _if she does this a lot, she's probably enchanted this part of the room to be fireproof. Still, it concerns me to see her so agitatedwhat could have made her so angry?_ She cogitated, and a realisation dawned on her. _Surely it's not_

To try to alleviate Ivy's mood, Maeve asked again where she had gone. I didn't recognise the name, the girl explained, but then, geography was never my best subject Ivy said, and her face softened somewhat. You wouldn't find it on any map or globe. It's another world.Another world? Like a—a parallel dimension, or something? She grinned sheepishly at herself. I know that sounds terribly science-fiction, butyou know what I'm talking about, right?Oh, of course, Ivy said, as she gave the metal blob—now rather elongated, and getting too cool to shape easily—another whack and thrust it back into the fire in the forge. She bent to pick up the bit that had fallen to the floor in one smooth motion, examined it, and then placed it to one side of the big oven. No, Miracos is actually another planet. Yes, light-years away from here, she added, seeing Maeve's astonished expression. But interstellar travel isn't a problem when you're good at teleportation. Poor Muggles! They're all so worried about developing warp engines and stuff to explore space, when all they need is a good magical education.

Maeve kept the conversation steered in the direction of Ivy's adventure—which sounded like something out of an Elder Scrolls or Warcraft game—to keep her teacher's mood up, and it was a much-cheerier Ivy that doused the forge a few hours later and shooed Maeve ahead of her, expressing a wish to change clothes before supper. Maeve knew there was much the professor hadn't told her, but what she couldn't guess, she wasn't going to ask.

Sunday was quiet; if Ivy received a dressing-down from the other teachers for absconding with the Sword of Gryffindor, it was somewhere where the students weren't aware of it, and Maeve spent most of the day doing homework and studying. Carlota approached her at lunch, asking if they could study together, and Maeve invited her back to the common room, where the two girls, plus Brian and Erica, continued their homework. Carlota was brilliant: Upon questioning, she revealed that she had already read most of the textbooks they had been assigned, and her parents had bought her a few more that wouldn't be needed for years but which she was interested in reading, such as the _Standard Book of Spells_ up to Grade Four. Maeve felt a sudden surge of pity for her friend, realising that she must have always been even more bookish and reserved than she, and that Carlota's life in Muggle primary school must have been even more difficult than having to overcome the prejudice of most of the Hogwarts students—both the Slytherins in her own House, who assumed that anyone without a lineage traceable through dozens of generations of mages was slightly less-than-human, and others, who seemed to think that anyone Sorted into Carlota's House was a psychotic lowlife for whom the only reasonable life-goal was to become a Dark wizard like the late Lord Voldemort (who, despite his defeat and death over a year previous, still apparently inspired enough fear in the Wizarding community to keep those Maeve asked from telling her everything she wanted to know). At least here, Carlota could have Gary with her. It seemed the ravenlike bird was her closest friend, and for years, he had probably been her _only_ friend. Maeve stopped herself suddenly: When had she become so empathic? She shrugged mentally, and put it off to magic and/or maturity. She would be twelve next June, after all.

Ivy came in just after dinner and asked if anyone would be interested in playing more Dungeons & Dragons. Maeve eagerly accepted, and helped explain the rules to Carlota; as they role-played their way through a conspiracy, a dungeon, and political intrigue, Maeve saw that her friend's face was alight with a joy she hadn't seen there before, and before they left for supper, the black-haired girl actually smiled for the first time some of her fellow students had seen.

Several hours later, Maeve found herself standing on a trail in a quiet forest. The sky overhead was the silvery-white of clouds not thick enough to rain, and the quality of the light told her it was midday, even though the sun was not visible.

Wait, how did I get here? she asked herself softly. I studied most of the day, then played D&D until I went to bedbut this She glanced around, as if an answer were hiding in the deep green shadows to either side of her. I must be dreaming. Taking a step forward, and another, she continued, But I've never had a dream like thisthere's a name for it, right? Lucid dreaming, that's it She didn't want to speak loudly; it was as if the near-silence settled over the forest was a beautiful illusion that would be broken with the sound of speech above a whisper. It was not a sinister silence, or like the pressurised feeling before a storm: it was serene, beautiful, filling her heart and spirit, as if the world were the way it was meant to be. Maeve crept down the path, instinctively reaching down to pull her robes up so she wouldn't trip, and noticed that she was not clad in her school robes, as her dream-self usually had been since coming to Hogwarts: rather, she was clothed in a ruffled empire-waist white gown, woven of something softer than silk, with fresh flowers at the neck and hem. She knew she had never worn anything like it, but it seemed familiar.

Her bare feet moved along the mossy trail in silence; the distant bird-songs and other forest sounds were slowly drowned out by the babbling of a brook running across the path, and Maeve knew that whatever she was looking for was nearby. She quickened her pace, leaping across the stream and running down the soft smooth trail, which was free of the sticks and rocks that would normally stab at unprotected soles and force a slower pace. There was a clearing ahead, and she could just barely make out shimmering lights—

Maeve gasped as she stepped into the clearing. The shimmering lights were very bright now, and there was a tall mirror standing in the centre of the glade that she hadn't seen before. She was reflected in it—no, not heror was it? Maeve inched toward the great plane of glass, barely noticing the flowing characters etched around its edge, and stared at the girl in the mirror. She had Maeve's height, build, and hairstyle, but her ears were long and thin, and she had tawny hair and pale violet eyes. Her dress was the same, but instead of the daisies, speedwells, cranesbills, and alkanets that adorned Maeve's hem and collar, the mirror-girl's were studded with roses, maple-leaves, celandines, and heather. She wore a chunky ruby necklace that Maeve knew she had seen before, and smiled shyly but knowingly when their eyes met. Maeve reached forward, the tips of her fingers just brushing the image of the other girl—who mimicked her—and felt no resistance as she had expected, but rather a faintly-cool veil like water suspended in the air. She stepped forward, moving through the mirror, and felt a shifting, like some subtle and benevolent power within the forest moving to encompass her. Maeve turned to look, and the mirror-girl was standing where she had been just a moment before, but her aspect had changed: She was now apparently human. Maeve reached up to her ears and found them long and slender, like those of a Fey.

It's who I am, the mirror-girl said in Maeve's voice, and Maeve knew she was right. The shimmering lights danced around them, and Maeve knew what they were now: They were strands of magic, waiting to be used, like coloured threads to form a pattern on a loom. She reached out for one, and the scene changed

Sirius Black, Harry's companion and the man with whom Ivy had been flirting so fruitlessly, was seated on a stone, his eyes downcast. His long dark hair had slipped over his shoulders, hiding his face, but Maeve knew it was set in an expression of frustration and loss.

Ivy, lace-winged and Fey-eared, her cobalt hair and viridian gown hung with sparkling rubies, knelt before him and placed one hand on his cheek. How much longer can you deny it? she whispered. It is what we are meant for—every life since the beginning of time, and every life until time endsIt can't be, he mumbled hoarsely, though Maeve could tell he was refusing only with great difficulty. She felt very much the intruder, even without being able to guess what they must have been referring to; it was like a story in _ElfQuest_. Maeve's dream-self suppressed a giggle; was all of Ivy's life so fantasy-like? She turned to leave, knowing she shouldn't witness such a scene, just as a great and terrible voice pealed from the sky like thunder:

_IT SHALL NEVER BE!_

Ivy shrieked in anguish; Sirius let out a howl, almost wolflike, of shock and pain, as his dream-image shattered into pieces and faded to motes of light. Maeve fell to the ground, helpless, knowing that the anger of whoever—or whatever—possessed that voice was directed at her as well as Ivy. Never had she felt so unclean, so—_misbegotten_—

With a cry of righteous fury, she snatched at a spark-stream of magic and hurled it into the sky. Blue lightning and fire exploded across the bottoms of the clouds, and the terrible male voice cried out in pain as broken shards of sky slowly floated down to dissipate above the treetops.

We are part of this world! Maeve yelled, without understanding why, and Ivy rose back to her feet, turning to fix the girl with a look of blazing pride.

No less than I'd expect from the scion of Fairy Hogwart, she said, smiling radiantly.

Carlota's dreams, meanwhile, were far more vague and much more threatening. She tossed and turned silently in her bed, the same scene unfolding before her mind's eye that had done so many times before, forwell, years—though she could never remember what the dream was about when she woke, she knew every time it occurred that she had had it before. And yet that was never enough

What had been, moments before, secure and comfortable suddenly gave way, with great throbs of crushing pain that seemed to last an eternity each, to open air, cold, vulnerability. Carlota screamed in terror and rage, hating this place, this new sensation of looseness, drowning out the raptured cries coming from elsewhere in the room: _Gen-ni-tchoh-ki, Gen-ni-tchoh-ki The feeling of a stretch, a snapping sort of tear, and something cut off and ended; her senses were overloaded with more sounds and sights than she could take in, she was cold, she was afraid, she hurt, and she didn't know what was going on_

A golden light, somewhere over there; a flash, different kinds of sounds, shouts of terror that rivalled her own. Harsh clangs and screams. She looked up, focussing her slow-responding eyes on something great and sleek and crimson, something with a meaning she couldn't quite identify—and then a scintillation of silver-and-gold light was hovering over her, speaking softly, and someone's warm hands wrapped her in something tight and soft

Carlota woke up as suddenly as if jolted, sitting half-upright in bed. She looked around, her eyes needing barely a moment to adjust to the darkness of the room, and remembered where she was: The dormitory for the Fataluma first-year girls. Maeve was over there somewhere—yes, that bed. She was murmuring and twitching, but clearly fast asleep. Carlota sat upright and curled her legs under her, pressing her fingers to her forehead.

That dream—the dream she _knew_ she had had before—was still echoing inside her brain, like when someone speaks into silence and his last word bounces around inside your head for a minute. It was slippery, harder to grasp than the river fish that Gary sometimes talked her into catching, but—it was _there_—_she almost had it_—

Oh, my God, she whispered into the sleep-silent dormitory. It was—it wasmy birth

Suddenly unable to keep still, Carlota slipped from her bed, wrapping her bathrobe round her shivering shoulders. The night was far from chilly, even so late into September, but she had always been thin enough to be sensitive to cold; still, it was doubtful that her trembling hands and chattering teeth were totally due to temperature. Gary, fluffed out and perched upon the windowsill, opened one of his shining black eyes and lifted his head to watch her approach.

_[What are you doing?_ he asked, using the same sort of quiet, almost subconscious, speech he always had when talking to her; try as she might, Carlota could never describe exactly how it sounded to others, nor understand how they couldn't hear the croaks and clicking that she could if she concentrated on what lay beneath the words. _[It's night, you know. We should both be asleep. And yes, I know you have better night vision than I do, Car. Even so._

Do you know where Mum and Dad are staying? she asked him silently.

He cocked his head, beady eyes twinkling in the moonlight. _[Someplace called Hogsmeade,_ he told her. _[It's a human-dwelling-cluster not a far flight from here._ He shifted his weight, putting down the foot that had been tucked into his feathers, and pulled the other one up against his belly. _[If you want to go there, you're on your own, I'm afraid. I suppose you could talk one of the owls around here into leading you, but I still say it's a bad idea to go wandering off there in the middle of the night. There aresome very strange things happening. All of my cousins around here have been talking about it—surely you heard them chattering this evening? I think it would be dangerous, very dangerous, to go to Hogsmeade—particularly since you can't fly—but I understand that I can't stop you if you're set on it._ He flicked his wings restlessly, the corvine equivalent of a sigh.

Carlota nodded. I need to find out. She went to the window, stroked her friend's sleek pitch-black feathers, and let out a sigh of her own. I think I'll be all right.

She strode quietly to her satchel, pulled out her wand, and slipped her feet into the shoes she had taken off at the edge of the bed. Silencing her movements with a charm, she crept out of the dormitory and through the halls of Hogwarts.

Her heart skipped as she charmed and pushed open the huge, heavy doors of the entrance hall. Should she have brought Maeve along? No, she thought quickly, her friend probably wouldn't like being awakened in the middle of the night. Besides, it would make things easier if she could relate what she found out in the morning instead of trying to explain the odd, nagging feeling of nervousness that made her feel as if her insides had disappeared.

Carlota shut the great doors behind her, still silenced, and locked them again. Then, turning to face the sloping lawns gilded with silver light from the waning-crescent moon, she sent out a silent Call.

Within moments, birds of all sizes were gliding through the night air toward her: nightjars, owls of various species, and even a pair of massive, quiet shadows that she realised were hippogriffs, legendary creatures half-griffin and half-horse. No, wait, these weren't—they seemed to be half-eagle, half-horse, with no trace of lion. Shrugging her shoulders, Carlota went to the smaller of the two hippogriffs—its fur and feathers a pinky-tan colour she could easily make out with her superb night-vision—and asked him politely if he knew where a place called Hogsmeade was. He responded that he did, seeming rather surprised (Carlota sensed that he was not used to being addressed in so straightforward a way), and wondered what it was she needed there. He offered to let her ride him, crouching down and spreading his wings so she could easily mount, and she did so, climbing onto the sleek back and holding tightly to his wing-shoulders. The hippogriff took off into the sky, with the other beast and the swarm of owls and nightjars following in a sort of honour guard around her, having accepted her as a friend the moment she communicated with them.

It felt even more unreal than her dream, to be sitting astride a flying hippogriff in the pale moonlight, the cool wind whipping past her face and streaming her hair out behind her. A few nightingales in the Hogwarts grounds below, and the Forbidden Forest further away, were twittering their nocturnal serenades; there were even a few robins singing, though the dawn was still far off. Carlota twisted round and looked back at the black mass of trees beyond the gamekeeper's hut, her heart giving a little jump as she realised there was a faint green light from somewhere deep within it. Suddenly remembering the bizarre animal that had emerged from the forest Friday—and that her mother had attacked and slain it—made her shudder violently, and she turned back to face forward, unwilling to risk encountering one on her own.

Her mother The way things seemed now, she must be full of things she had never told Carlota, her and Carlota's father both. The thought made Carlota's throat ache. Were they even really her parents? She had the distinct impression from her dream, though she couldn't identify where the impression came from, that the woman who had actually had her was dead now, having lost her life in giving Carlota her own; that would mean she, Carlota, was adopted, an orphan

_What's wrong with that?_ she asked herself. _Lots of kids are adoptedlots of kids who don't look like their parents, because they're not genetically related_ And her chest tightened, as if wrapped in constricting bands of metal— _if I was adopted, why haven't they told me? Do they think I'm too young to know? Or is there somesome other reasonthat they think I _shouldn't_ know?_

Carlota buried her face in the hippogriff's feathery mane; the cold wind was beginning to make her numb. Just as she had done so, the great warm body beneath her tilted down, banking and slowing until it landed gently upon a cobbled path, cantering to a stop before the aureate remnants of what had clearly been a lush garden earlier in the year; beyond the garden was a stone building.

Do you know what this place is? she asked the hippogriff, sliding down into the grass; cold, dewy blade-tips brushed the tops of her feet.

_[Humans call it the Three Broomsticks,_ he responded, _[though I wouldn't be able to tell you what that's supposed to mean._

these people she queried, sending a mental image of her parents to the birds around her. One of the little owls twittered excitedly, flapping up over her head and perching on a wrought-iron balcony some three stories above. Oh, they're here? This must be the inn, thenOh, would you please tell me your name? Carlota asked the hippogriff, stroking his sleek head. In case we meet again? I'm Carlota.

_[Ka-lo-ta,_ responded the hippogriff, bowing its head; in fact, it went so far as to sink onto its eagle-scaly front knees. _[Friend Hakrit, who islike you, a littlehumanlike, but different from human—calls me Redtail', but I prefer to go by Sunblaze'._

Carlota nodded, and mirrored his bow. Thank you for your help, Sunblaze. She didn't know who Friend Hakrit' was, but didn't think it mattered at the moment. She crossed the garden to the inn's back door, unlocked it with a tap of her wand, and beckoned the tiny owl down to guide her up the stairs to her parents' room.

She paused there, torn, not sure whether she should unlock this door, too, with the _Alohomora_ charm and go right in, or to knock and wait for their answer; would they be upset about her coming to see them in the middle of the night? Safer to knock, surely, but what if it woke other guests, who might then want to know how she had gotten in? From what she had heard around school, Hogwarts students weren't allowed to visit Hogsmeade village until their third year, so it would lead to complications if she were discovered.

Carlota shook her head and brushed back her hair. She _had_ to speak to her mother and father, and if she got in trouble, she'd sort it out. She took a deep breath and knocked three times on the door; the sudden sound was jarring against the sleepy silence. The little owl hooted quietly from her shoulder, then took wing as soft footsteps within the room came to the door.

Who's there? came her mother's sleepy voice from the other side.

It—it's me, Mum, Carlota answered, her voice soft and hoarse from having only used bird-speak for the last several minutes.

The latches clicked, the door flew open, and her mother was silhouetted in the doorway. Great heavens— What are you doing here? How did you get here? What's wrong? She ushered the girl into the room and shut the door; the rumpled and mounded sheets on the four-poster bed in one corner shifted aside as her father sat up in bed, brushing his long dark hair out of his eyes and gazing groggily around.

Carlota's mother sat her down on a bench and fussed with her nightgown. Your hair, your— How did you get here?I rode a hippogriff, she said simply. I'm really sorry, Mum—Dad—but II needed to talk to you. Suddenly self-conscious, she examined the fingers folded in her lap; the idea of bursting in here to discuss what may well have been a dream, and _only_ a dream, was beginning to seem rather foolish. I— Please don't think it's weird, but—I justhad a really odd dream, and it felt very real, and itit kind of scared me.

She had been expecting her mother to crouch down before her, smoothing back her hair and whispering soothing words that it had been only a dream, only a nightmare, that everything was all right. Instead, Carlota's heart dropped out through the bottom of her feet as she watched her parents exchange a look.

What was it about, love? her mother asked softly, pulling up another chair. Are you quite sure it wasn't just a nightmare?

Carlota shook her head. I don't know. Maybe it was, but it wasso strange. I felt like I had had it before, but I don't think I could ever remember it until tonight

Her father got up and moved around the room, lighting candles and busying himself with an object in the corner that turned out to be a teapot, as Carlota explained all she could remember of the dream she had had. When she was finished, she looked up into her mother's face, and saw that it had gone very pale; she was biting her lip, brow furrowed.

I don't knowdo you think it wasjust a dream?

Carlota's father sat down next to them and handed them both a cup of tea. Well, I don't want to lie, he said, sipping at his own drink, but there are a lot of complicated details behind it, and it will take some time to explain it all. He shot Carlota's mother a look over the rim of his teacup; she sighed.

Yes, you're eleven nowyou're not a child anymoreI suppose we'd better Well, and she dropped her eyes. I am very sorry, Carlota, and I hope you can forgive us. We have not been entirely honest with you.You lied to me?No, never lied. I cannot lie— That takes some explanation in and of itself, her mother said, waving a hand, but there are things we could have told you that we did not. Things you probably should have known soonerIt wasn't that we thought you were too young to know, her father explained. You've always been smart, and I'm sure you would have understood anything we needed to tell you. We were worried that—that it mighthurt you.Well, it rather hurts to suddenly find out I was adopted and never told, she said acidly, starting to become annoyed that her parents were being so circumspect. Whatever they had to tell her, whatever the truth was, it couldn't be worse than this awful waiting to hear it.

Oh, 'Lota, her mother said, her voice thick; Carlota was surprised to see tears filling the older woman's eyes. I know, I know—we're so sorry—we never should have kept—we should have—I—I'm sorry too. It's OK, Mumyou don't need to be upset about it Carlota mumbled, pulling her legs up beneath her and staring into the teacup. But I take it, then, that I really was adopted?I wouldn't use the word her father protested, draining his teacup and setting it down on the sideboard. We raised you from the moment you were born. It's true we're not your biological parents, yes, but— whispered her mother, and he fell silent. Carlota stared at each of them in turn, feeling cold inside. A sudden vast, uncrossable gulf seemed to have sprung up between her and the two adults, who just twenty-four hours before she had loved and trusted so muchand now, she found, they weren't her real parents at allOh, Carly, love, her mother said, not making eye contact; the tears poured down her cheeks.

Who were my parents? Carlota asked, her throat so tight she was unable to speak in a voice above a whisper.

They were—atat least, your birth mother was—members of a her father said slowly. We discovered them on apolice raid.Was it—was it really a police raid? Only I know, now, that you've always known magic— Carlota glanced at the man and woman who had raised her— so you don't have to make up stories now, you can tell me the truth.

Carlota's mother let out a ragged sigh; wiping her eyes with her sleeve, she reached for Carlota's hand. Love, please don't be angry with us, she begged. Anything we might have kept from you—any lies by omission—is because we love you. We couldn't have our own children, your father and I, but we found you insteadWe're from another world, Carlota, not Carinthia, like we've always told people. It's a world just like Earth, separate but sort of connected, a kind of linked demiplane. I am a Paladin, as I said before. A holy knight, a crusader against evil. I—don't— She cut off abruptly, sounding strangled, and amended what she had been about to say. Whoever your biological parents may have been, whatever they may have done before you were born, none of it was your fault, so when my companions and I—we had sort of a Fellowship, like in _Lord of the Rings_, you know?—found, at the meeting we broke up, that one of the cultists was having a baby, we felt sorry for her and took the baby away to raise.We didn't know how big the cult was, her father put in, or whether they would think it was important that one of their members had had a baby during the ceremony, but we worried they might, and that someday, they might want to come find you. So we moved here, to Earth, and stopped using magic, blending in with the normal people here, and telling them we were from another country on Earth—at least, until we knew the culture well enough to not stand out.

Carlota stared at her knees; her innards still seemed to be frozen. why did my biological mother die? They didn't even take her to a hospital to have her baby?Sanctuary isn't exactly like Earth, her mother explained. Most cultures are rather like the Middle Ages. The people there don't have science or modern medicine like they do here.It's much better here, her father said genially. Indoor plumbing, for instance, and being able to heat a house without lighting fires in every room.But all—all your friends—you justleft them behind, in Sanctuary?We had to, so you could be safe, her mother whispered. Carlota felt her eyes burning. She'd learned many things tonight that she never would have suspected (though, despite the unpleasantness of most of it, she was glad she knew now), but the fact that two people would leave behind their entire lives, the world and people they knew, for the sake of protecting a little girl who wasn't even of their flesh and blood This, Carlota reflected, made her realise that her parents really did love her, quite possibly even more than her biological mother and father would have.

Oh, Mum, she cried, and threw herself on her mother's neck, sobbing into her shoulder. A second later, she felt her father's strong arms encircle both of them in a tight hug, and they were all crying on one another.

Several minutes later, Carlota wiped her face with her nightgown, feeling somehow cleaner, refreshed. for everything, she said hoarsely. I should—I should probably go back to bed soon. I think Sunblaze will be willing to fly me back—What No, no, you're not going back outside in the middle of the night! her mother reprimanded, standing up. Here, I'll kip on the couch. You sleep in the bed, and we'll take you back to Hogwarts in the morning.

Carlota didn't protest much; her desire to be self-effacing was easily overriden by the urge to return to sleep, and when the sheets and pillows had all been shifted about and everyone bedded down, she asked into the darkness, Yes, love?when I'm oldercould I go to Sanctuary?

She heard her mother sigh. We'll see, dear.Only I want to find out—someday, not today—if anyone knows anything about my biological parents. Maybe one of them could talk to birds, too.

A very pregnant silence followed this; then her mother repeated, We'll see, Carlota.

The youngest Phoenix fell asleep with her mind buzzing with the suspicion that her parents still weren't telling her everything.


End file.
